Find a task
by Amirea
Summary: Alex has one task: destroying Scorpia - while keeping the one he loves alive. Alex/OC UNDER REWRITING AND BETAING. Done till Ch. 2.
1. Prologue

**Warnings:** Later may contain limes, lemons, hard language, torture, whatnot.

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Hi everybody,

I just had this idea which wouldn't let me sleep, so I decided to type it out. Hope you'll enjoy. (The further chapters'll be longer - I prefer writing between 2-3,000 words.)

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**Edit 12/09/09**: I managed to find a wonderful beta **Valar Morghulis**, so in the future my work will be actually written in _English_.

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_Disclaimer_: I'm not Anthony Horowitz, nor do I own Alex Rider, all the relating rights are his. I make no money out of this. (And let's say this disclaimer applies to the whole story.)

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**Prologue**

The house was in the richer part of Chelsea. It had white walls and pale blue window-frames as did every house in the street. Three steps led from the little veranda to the front door, which was painted dark blue and, again, looked like every other door in the street. The doorknob was made of copper, the security system a simple lock beneath it and a discreet sticker saying that 'This house is protected by SJF technologies.'

The veranda had a low roof above it, matching the blue of the real roof and the windows. It was built in the Victorian style, like many other houses in London: the sort which, from a picture, you would never be able to locate on a map. Not too rich and not too poor. Completely average.

A black BMW stopped in front of it. It matched the house as well: expensive without being ostentatious_,_ equipped with some special extras yet not attracting any attention. If a passer-by had seen the scene, the house or the car, or even the man getting out of the BMW, he would have remembered none of them afterwards. Maybe he wouldn't even have been able to find the house another time.

Of course, this was the man's exact aim: not to attract any attention. A spy didn't need to stay in the shadows – as long as no-one paid attention to him in the first place.

The chauffeur got out of the car and went to the boot take his passenger's luggage. There were many suitcases, but he didn't take them inside: only to the door, where he stood them carefully on the last step. The chauffeur was a nervous man with black hair and a muscular body. He was wearing jeans and a white shirt under a black denim jacket which whirled loosely around his shape to cover the holster with the two Smith & Wesson pistols in them.

The man getting out of the car was younger than his chauffeur. Calmness radiated from his every cell – calmness that no surprise could upset. He moved gracefully, and even if there hadn't been the noise of traffic, his footsteps wouldn't have been heard. His eyes, calm and slightly bored, checked the neighbouring homes and the street in a moment before returning to the house in front of him.

He was short but well-built, his blond hair grown longer than the hairdresser would have ever meant it to be when he had cut it months ago. He was wearing jeans and an ocean blue pullover against the chill of the early September weather, which meant drizzling rain for London. He calmly walked to the entrance and pulled a key out of his pocket, but he didn't unlock the door yet.

He waited patiently until the chauffeur had brought all his luggage to the doorstep. He nodded to him after he was ready. The man recognized the dismissal – he was a soldier at least. He didn't look into his eyes at all, avoiding his gaze as well as everybody else did.

There weren't many left who dared to stare directly into them. They feared what they might see in the dark holes. The man didn't bother with the frightened people around him though: maybe he didn't even notice them. Not because he was that sort of man whose gaze would slip on anything – just because he was apparently exhausted to death. The soldier wondered for a moment what he had done for Special Operations, but then just shrugged mentally. It was not his business, and maybe he was better off not knowing about anything the mysterious man did.

He walked back to the car and watched the man twisting the key around and around on his palm. Finally, he sighed and closed his fist. The soldier swallowed and although he knew he had no other job to do, waited for him to open the door. Only after a few seconds did he realize that maybe his presence was the reason why the man was still standing on the doorstep. He frowned and opened the car-door.

"Welcome back to England," he muttered under his breath sitting behind the wheel not paying any more attention to the man he had delivered home. The younger man at the door half turned back to him, a sad smile appearing on his otherwise emotionless face. With one fluid familiar movement, he opened the front door of his house and, grabbing one of the suitcases slipped into the hall.

Alex Rider had returned.

**To be continued…**


	2. 1: Waltz in a palace

I was sooo glad so many people found this interesting enough to put on their favourite or alert lists! I decided to give you this quick update before the weekend when I won't be at home.

I guess there'll be some things in this to review about...

Oh, and btw sorry about my German... Ten years of learning just aren't enough to be able to make a correct sentence...

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**Chapter 1 – Waltz in a palace**

The call was registered at exactly 8.32 pm. It was only 16 seconds long: a frightened voice calling for help because his school, Saint Catherine's College, had been attacked, and most of the pupils taken hostage_._ He rushed through the words, not giving the officer at the other end of the line the chance to say a word. The call ended hurriedly.

Under other circumstances, the police and maybe some units of Special Forces would have been notified and called there, but this was not an ordinary school: Saint Catherine's had been founded after the First World War in an old Victorian building in the heart of London, for the children of the many diplomats working in the city. Unlike other schools, in Saint Catherine's the school year had started two weeks late, as the buildings had recently been undergoing renovation.

According to the regulations, the officer should have called the headmaster; but unfortunately he was on a holiday in New Zealand at his sister's and was not available. So the officer, heavily sweating now, called on the teacher in charge to look for the children staying at the school - those who had not been able to stay with their parents until the renovations ended. Although the call to the telephone in their hostel (located a few hundred metres from the school building itself) was not answered, fortunately the answering machine of the teacher's mobile was more helpful: the woman had changed the automatic reply in case a worrying parent should call.

Five minutes after the SAS got the case, they had discovered the reason the pupils had been in the old building and not at their hostel for tonight: Saint Catherine's had a park embracing the main buildings and it was in the school's work plan to go out in the evening and observe the natural night life. The teacher must have thought it easier to show a relatively small group of students at first.

Amongst the hostages there were more than five diplomats' children, the son of the German ambassador to England, three children of highly ranked military officers and the daughter of a royal prince. According to the rules and weighing the seriousness of the situation, twenty units were sent – the most possible. Only five remained at the base near London.

The thudding noise of the helicopters must have been heard by the unknown terrorist group as well, but this was the easiest way to reach the school – it took less than fourteen minutes. The police had secured the building, which was completely dark and seemed empty. During the flight, the SAS soldiers had got the general blueprints, but only a very old plan was available in the computer database. This database was supposed to contain the blueprints of every single building near London with a high security rating, but right now, nobody stopped to ask how the real blueprint had disappeared. There was no time for it.

The terrorists had no known demands, nor any sort of communication with the military forces assembling in front of their door. Nobody asked why – they were soldiers following commands, and the command was to free the hostages and resolve the situation as soon as possible. The first units used the newest helicopters available at the base, but twelve of the latter units had to be transported a slower way.

The eight units which had come with the helicopters were taking their appointed positions when several shots were heard from the dark school yard. After a short conference, the units decided to enter the area from different directions. If they waited, it could endanger the lives of the hostages.

The building had a difficult layout, and without the appropriate blueprints, and considering the recent changes in the situation within the building, the soldiers had no real chance of following the terrorists if they decided to take the hostages and move further. The eight units split up and took their positions at the various exits. This needed six of them – only two units remained to break into the school.

The leader of this action was a colonel named Hugh Smith. He was sitting outside in one of the helicopters coordinating the motion of the units. Every man had a built in radio in their combat uniform; it used a low frequency transmitter with a small broadcast radius. However, this time, there was obviously aproblem with the radio connection: once the soldiers entered the park around the building, only stratospheric noise could be heard in the devices.

When the last twelve units finally arrived, thirty-one minutes after the phone call, the two assault units were missing. Since they had entered, seven minutes earlier, their backup had received no sign that they were still alive. The next units were much more cautious after that. They could only hope that the problem was merely technical, and the soldiers were unharmed.

No calls for help, no danger-signs had been given: they could hope for the best. However, the arriving forces had found that one of the units guarding an exit had also disappeared. They were SAS: these soldiers did not panic, though an ominous feeling was beginning to disturb them. This mission was somehow far more difficult than it should have been. The disappeared guard unit's place was filled again and the now only eleven new units took their places for the invasion of the old Victorian palace.

They planned to attack at three more hidden entrances: four units through the cellar, four through the kitchen, and the last three at the side door of the Eastern wing. There was nobody there to notice that one more unit had been eliminated at one of the escape routes.

The building, once the palace of a duke, was much more like a labyrinth than a school. It had long, narrow corridors, maiden-staircases, dark corners and small chambers. Most of the rooms had several entrances and there were no large halls, which usually made easy targets for an assault team. The terrorists had chosen the scene of their little charade well.

There still wasn't any sign of the hostages or the terrorists who used an unknown, but obviously efficient technique to ambush and eliminate enemy soldiers. It was a slow, nerve-racking advance for the SAS troops, with every room a possible ambush: so when S unit caught a glimpse of a boy lying, silently sobbing, on the floor, they almost shot him out of sheer surprise. The team's leader, codenamed Goat, instinctively tried to notify Command of the first appearing sign of success – but there was no response, besides the dead buzzing in the device. He sighed and waved forward one of his team-mates to take the boy out from the corner he was curled up.

The man was called Monkey because of the jokes he liked to ease the tension with during training, and the permanent sense of humour which never disappeared from him. The boy slowly stood up and started to gabble something incomprehensibly quickly in an unknown language. Monkey waved to Chamois, who was supposed to speak the language, which he recognised as German. Amongst the hostages there _was_ a German schoolboy, Hans Krüger, the son of the German ambassador.

"Es gab mehr als ein hundert großen Mann hier, sie waren in schwarzen Kleider und hatten uns…" They boy babbled. Monkey was right: he was speaking German. Not because he was German: he had nothing to do with Germany or the German ambassador and he wasn't the least bit Hans Krüger. Yet he was speaking German fluently with almost perfect pronunciation; not that it would have counted: Chamois didn't speak German at that level.

The two men had come close. They had no fears about the boy – he was one of the hostages who they were supposed to save.

Monkey's and Chamois' psychologists would need to spend much time with them later, trying to heal the wounds this betrayal would cause them: though it took only three seconds for the innocent German boy to, gathering momentum, kick them in two sensitive points; and so the world darkened for two more of the eighty soldiers that had been called out.

Goat sensed something hit his head from behind and fell to the ground soundlessly. A young girl was standing there, moving quickly, but still the last of the unit, Panther, had time for a short shout before he was knocked out as well.

P unit was the nearest and they hurried to help their mates without reporting the dangerous situation to any other units nearby. Another mistake, but one they would realize only later – the soldiers were just too used to using radios and modern communication.

The two attackers quickly dragged the unconscious soldiers to another room. In a matter of seconds, there was no sign of the ambush left. The girl who had taken out Goat and Panther nodded to the boy and climbed backup to her hiding**-**place: during the renovation, some scaffolding had been erected right above the door to the room, and perched on that the girl was completely concealed. The boy curled back into the corner and began quietly sobbing.

One minute later another unit was neutralized.

With the two units from the first assault, the two missing guard units plus these, they had neutralised six teams from the original twenty sent. It was time to knock out another guard unit while the rest of the invading troops – nine teams at the moment, excluding the ones who had already fallen - were searching for the nonexistent hostages throughout the palace. Five units were still at guard posts scattered around the building: the soldiers' enemies had much more work to do tonight. It was 9.10 pm; thirty-six minutes had passed since the phone call.

The speed the two children displayed in binding the soldiers showed they had had much experience at this. The men each got a gag shoved into their mouth to preserve the silence of the palace, should they wake. Before their departure the children walked around and locked the doors, quickly choosing the right keys off a large ring. The soldiers would remain there until their reinforcement forces find them – at about six in the morning. They would have much time to think about the mistakes they had made…

D unit was standing impatiently outside the building's walls. They had arrived with the first group at helicopters, and had been standing there for seventeen minutes. It wasn't a long wait – but for soldiers who knew exactly how much each second counted in a battle, it was an eternity. They were nervous for their comrades and the lack of radio connection made them worry even more. However, they didn't know the magnitude of the real danger; they still thought that there was no way twenty units could be defeated by a terrorist group which hadn't even shown itself.

The girl running towards them was crying and wailing in a foreign language at the same time. Panda, however, seemed to understand her – the girl must have been talking in Chinese. Her large, tear-filled eyes had a beautiful almond shape – that was his last conscious thought before he felt a strong blow against his neck and the world darkened in front of his eyes.

The children seemed to have an endless supply of gags.

They carefully checked whether the soldiers had received any serious injuries – but they had done a good job: no wounds or trauma to the head or the spine. The heavy guns they had stolen from the first unit were perfect to give strong impacts without permanent effects.

Some of the nine units inside must have sensed something of the trouble they were in, because they began clustering together and attempting to meet up with the rest of their team mates. The girl ran around to close and lock the door on three teams in the cellar while the boy looked in on the 'attic,' where another two groups were easily trapped. Some equipment they got from the already eliminated soldiers came really handy now – the men dazed by their own grenades were going to be quite easy targets. Four more units were still walking around inside the huge labyrinth. Four pieces of cake.

The children's method of attack was surprisingly simple and surprisingly effective. The soldiers would have never hurt children and they didn't realize the danger they were in until it was too late. The two assailants played with them: knowing the sketch of the palace perfectly, they were able to lead them about wherever they wanted. They opened and closed doors, made noises, then cried and spoke – and kicked and punched, bringing darkness.

The whole process took a bit more than two hours, and the last units still on their feet were practically shaking from the tension. No matter how tough training was, it couldn't prepare them for attacking phantasms and ghosts; being hunted and taken down with ease; walking around in circles while their comrades vanished one by one. It was nerve-grating, and by the end the soldiers were completely neurotic.

Finally, at 10.42 pm, two shadows departed from the building. When, hours later, the police finally dared to enter the palace, they found a letter on the floor of the main hall and eighty highly trained SAS soldiers lying well-bound and completely helpless in several different places within the building.

No hostages were recovered: the threatened children had been at the hostel the whole time. No terrorist organization took responsibility. No usable image was taken of the phantom enemies. No suspect was identified. No soldier managed to slip through the mysterious attackers' clutches.

The colonel considered resigning.

**To be continued...**


	3. 2: This is Rosalie

Hey, everybody,

I was surprised to see the amount of visitors I've got. My other story in a different fandom had reached this amount in about two weeks... Weird. I was happy to get reviews, it helped a lot and motivated me to write another chapter for you.

Well, my grammar is quite awful, I know, but I've been learning English for two years... Yes, my work is detailed and 'descriptive' - don't hesitate to say you want some action after the millionth boring chapter in which nothing is really happening. I need a beta, I guess, so if anybody has the time (two-three chapters a week), and (unfortunately required) is in my timezone of Middle Europe = is British, pm me.

I was actually surprised that you found the previous chapter humorous... I guess when I write such I don't really realize, so... I'm not sure if there'll be more like that. Sorry.

And, much more important - let me know when this gets ridiculous. I'm daydreaming.

Disclaimer: He's not mine. (But, if we consider this carefully, _she _is.)

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**Chapter 2 – "This is Rosalie"**

_Nine days earlier_

He woke with a start. At first he didn't know where he was – the bedroom he was lying in and the bed he was lying on were unfamiliar, not the usual white walls with deep purple curtains and sheets. Then he remembered: this was _his_ bedroom, he was at _home_. Yet it felt more like a stranger's house, not his. The place he was used to calling home was far behind him now, several hours of flight away.

He didn't know what had woken him at first, but then he realized he was hungry. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table: it was one o'clock in the afternoon. He had slept more than eighteen hours. How weird.

He sat up with a fluid movement – feeling a stab of pain at the sight of the empty bed next to him – and went into the bathroom, trying to plan out the day ahead. He had to go to the supermarket: there was no food in the fridge, so he'd have to eat out for breakfast… and then he'd call on Jack. He bet MI6 hadn't told her he was back: she would still be at her parents, and fearing for his life. He would visit her as soon as possible: but only after he had eaten something, he decided, skipping showering.

He splashed some water onto his face and froze in front of the mirror. He braced his hands against the basin and sighed. The bruises he had got were going to fade – they had already started to during the two weeks he had spent in hospital – but his face was simply not the same one he had examined last time he had been in this house.

His features had changed as he had grown to a man during the eight months he had spent away. He needed to shave, but that was not the largest change. His features had lost their childishness and had become prominent, his jaw had become squared, his eyes… better not to examine his eyes too carefully.

He was four months from his sixteenth birthday, and he looked at least twenty-three. To be honest, he also _felt _twenty-three. He shook his head and searched for a T-shirt from his suitcase. All of his clothes had been washed in the hospital, and he grimaced at the overpowering scent of disinfectant on them. He quickly pulled on the jeans from yesterday, then, after a moment of thought, a denim jacket as well - London was colder than the country he had gotten used to during the past months. He rushed down the stairs.

He grabbed the house's key from the table he had dropped it on when he had arrived, and headed towards the door – before realizing that he had no money whatsoever. Yesterday, he had been clever enough not to leave the money MI6 had given him lying on the table with the keys. He opened the envelope hidden behind the toaster and, pulling out some banknotes, left the house. He entered the first restaurant he could find.

He hardly paid attention to what he was eating, until he realized that he was still in work-mode: not tasting the meal, but scanning the people around him. He sighed and forced himself to stop and _taste _his lunch. But he still couldn't help being alert, and noticing the interested looks from the waitresses working in the restaurant.

He didn't really mind, nor felt it wrong. But it was only half an hour later, when he stepped out of the restaurant, that he actually realized how strange it really was. He was being treated as a grown man, and even more: he was considered an attractive, young but strong man. Alex stood there silently, knowing that the long time without the chance to relax and be a teenager had destroyed his last chance of a normal childhood.

Why didn't he go to a McDonald's or buy some fast food? How on earth could he feel normal with the flirting of three waitress in their twenties – with their lingering glances extending an open invitation to him. Why did this twisted world suddenly feel right? Simply pulling out banknotes of his payment, buying food for his own flat, doing whatever he wanted to?

He shook his head and tried to find the path he had been following last time he had been here, but… the feeling of normality remained with him. It told him everything was right, that, at the age of fifteen, it was perfectly normal to have complete freedom and control over his daily life. Walking aimlessly, he realized his mistake, far too late: he let his other world, his _work_ change him, his life, his self. He was not Alex Rider anymore, but somebody between two worlds, stuck between his own self, the one he had been months ago and the one he had had as a cover story, somebody else. It was a frightening situation.

He tried to hate himself, to hate the man he had become so hastily, but he couldn't. He knew that somewhere deep in his heart, he had already suspected it, preparing himself subconsciously for the time when he realized it. He closed his eyes and tried to accept it, because everything had to be accepted, otherwise it killed you – he had learned the truth of this on his missions.

So, accept that he was a man. Emotionally, mentally, physically – completely. It was a surprisingly easy task: he just had to continue his life from his mission, only without the cover, without the danger.

He smiled at how much she had changed him, and knew she would have liked the decision he had made.

When he reopened his eyes, he realized that his feet had followed his train of thought and led him to his school. To his ex-school, to be correct.

He glanced at his watch: it was already three o'clock, the students were free and everybody would be headed out. For a moment, he considered escaping, but then he remembered his face from the mirror and knew almost none of his former peers would be able to recognise him. He watched them babble and laugh and talk and he knew that, this time, he had lost that innocence forever.

He leant against a wall and waited for some sadness, some anger to fill him as he watched the life he could never again have – but neither of them came, just numbness and a dull ache around his heart. "You have to work with whatever you get," she had said, and he knew how true that was.

As he stood there, his instincts began to warn him that somebody was watching him. This sixth sense was not something you could study, but an intuition acquired after years of practice and constant alertness. He slowly turned, and saw a short boy watching him with curious eyes. He smiled sadly at Tom Harris.

He had matured as well since they'd last met, but not as prominently as Alex. Tom stepped closer, visibly not believing what he saw. Another boy tapped him on the shoulder, wanting him to move further with the group which Alex achingly recognized as his own group of friends from the time he had not been a spy. Tom half turned back to the others, giving an excuse, before beginning to walk, faster and faster, towards Alex.

At the end he almost ran. Alex could see the disbelief in his eyes and wondered what he was seeing. A short man in jeans and a jacket standing calmly in the crowd, with his hands in his pockets, his posture motionless, his face emotionless. Much like how an SAS soldier would look outside the camp, Alex thought.

Tom stopped in front of him and, gasping for air from his anger, punched him. Alex had seen his fist coming, he'd had time to react; but he just stood there motionless. He sighed and gently massaged his cheek: there was going to be a pretty green bruise there afterwards, but one more or less bruise didn't really matter at this point. He was more interested in why Tom had attacked him than in the outcome.

Unfortunately, a passing teacher had a different opinion and grabbed Tom's shoulder, yelling about school rules and the punishment he was going to get for this. They were attracting more and more attention, with many students stopping to watch the scene.

Alex placed his hand onto the teacher's shoulder, which made him fall silent. "I don't think we are in school any more," he said, his voice calm and even. The surprise on the teacher's face was fabulous. Alex nodded to Tom and they left, hurrying towards the next Tube station.

They didn't talk until the school was several corners behind. "I thought you were dead. I cannot believe… Is that really you, Alex?" Tom shook his head vehemently.

"I was away, Tom, overseas. I thought you knew I was… working." He frowned.

"I know you said so, but… you always came back after a few weeks, and after so many months I started to… to believe you were dead, I guess. Where were you?"

"I see," Alex muttered. "I was undercover, I couldn't just… ring you. I didn't think about…. about informing you."

"Your house was closed and locked up and everything. Jack moved as well," Tom said, beginning to get angry again; but then he recovered. "And now you're coming back to school? You've missed a lot…" Then he took in what Alex had said, and asked incredulously, "You were undercover all that time?"

Alex nodded, not meeting his gaze. "I'm not going back to school. It would be sort of weird."

"Yeah. You seem… so _old_." He thought for a moment. "What about going out with us tomorrow? The guys would be glad to meet you as well, mate."

"They don't seem to trust me too much," Alex said, glancing back at the little group following Tom. They obviously feared that Alex would lead him somewhere dark and beat him up, so they had followed from the school, to be at hand if Tom needed them.

Tom chuckled. "They must think you're dangerous."

"Actually, I'm not dangerous. I'm lethal," Alex replied sourly. "Look, I don't think it would do any good, me hanging out with you. I'm just too used to my cover at the moment."

"Tom," a red-haired boy said as the group finally approached. Alex half smiled at the boy, who was examining him carefully. "Who's your friend?"

Something caught Alex's attention on the street and suddenly he was on full alert. What was wrong now? He looked around, but most of the people had just finished work and were hurrying home. In the rush, it was almost impossible to spot anything suspicious – even if somebody had been watching them, as Alex suspected.

"My name's Alex."

Tom hurried to save the situation and ease on the tension between them. "I invited Alex to play football with us tomorrow."

Alex's mouth twitched. The boys looked disappointed or even angry, but the girls' eyes were rather interested. He shifted uncomfortably. When did he become such prey to the other sex? "Unfortunately, I cannot go with you…" This was true: his doctors would murder him if he tried to play football with a bullet wound in his thigh from only two weeks ago - and anyway, he suspected he wouldn't be much help, considering he was hardly able to even walk straight.

And suddenly, he caught it: a woman was standing on the other side of the street, pretending to read a journal at the newsagent's, but watching him in the mirror of the window. Normally, his eyes would have passed over her without a second glance – but he knew her.

He knew the way she was standing, her body slightly turned to the right, her right knee slightly bent. He knew, before she had done it, that she would take the journal and ask the price; that, having paid, she would turn to the side as though examining the street out of boredom while the newsagent counts out her change – and then her gaze would meet his. Only for a second – but in that second, he would communicate what he wanted her to do.

Her face was completely emotionless when their gaze met, but she pretended to smile back at him when Alex nodded slightly to her, deciding that Tom could meet her. The woman smiled at the newsagent, picked up the journal and crossed the street to Alex. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, waiting for him to indicate what role they played at the moment. Nobody else would have noticed it, even if they suspected something.

"Honey, what are you doing here?" he said, quickly kissing her lips.

"I was just looking around downtown, but I haven't found anything really." She smiled, looking around at the group's members. Her face didn't show any emotion at the jealous looks from girls nor the boys' stares and open mouths. Alex enjoyed the reactions inwardly and knew she did as well, at least as much as him.

She had got the dye out of her hair, returning it to its beloved original colour, a beautiful and fiery red to which a hairdresser had added some deeper and lighter shades of pink. Her complexion was pale, but in a healthy way, and whenever she flushed her cheeks played in adorable rosy pink. Her eyes, however, tended after her Chinese mother, with an almost smoky grey colour.

The sport which made her able to do such hard work also helped to form her body, and although she was even younger than Alex, her figure was far from a teenage girl's – her slim figure mirrored the mental maturity she had achieved the same way Alex did. She moved with a grace - the grace of a ballet dancer - Alex knew too well, the elegance he had hated in Yassen Gregorovich and his world, the elegance radiating from her despite the casual clothes she was wearing; the same elegance he knew he himself had around him attracting women's attention.

Alex waited until even the bravest guys had finished staring.

"Guys, this is Rosalie, my girlfriend."

**To be continued…**


	4. 3: Seven days till the goodwill

**Warnings:** Later may contain lime, lemon, hard language, torture, femslash, whatnot.

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Thanks for everybody who reviewed. This is yours!

Don't own Alex... However he's so much OOC, you wouldn't even recognise him.

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Chapter 3**** – Seven days till the goodwill**

It was only dawn when she woke up. It was not like the ones she had been used to, you're sleeping then the next moment you're awake, it was slow. The room had a comfortable temperature, much more bearable than the one they were used to during the past months. The quilt was twisted around her waist and her legs. His hand was pleasantly warm against her naked back. Careful not to take any movement, she opened her eyes.

His heartbeat was strong and even and comforting under her head. For a long time, she just enjoyed the morning – it was the most beautiful for weeks. She didn't have to fear, didn't have to be alone. She knew she was safe. Nobody was going to attack them, not possibly. And if someone might have wanted to kill them this moment, he would have had a hard task.

She instinctively knew that the man was having a gun under the pillow in the right, inches away from his fingers and another one in the drawer of the bedside table. If she turned around, she could have it in less than a moment. They were safe.

And anyways… they weren't in Israel anymore. Nobody was going to attack.

She didn't move knowing it would wake him up instantly. He was a bad sleeper, in the last time at least. She examined the bruises on his chest and thought about the bullet wound her long hair was covering. It might have been not the prettiest sight to wake up to every morning, but strangely it comforted her. It was comforting to know he had survived so many murdering attempts fighting the same enemy she did. However, she knew he didn't agree this and considered it… ugly or wrong or disturbing.

She remembered how hard it was to reach the point of being able to stand face to face nakedly. Her heart ached thinking about the fact it was going to end very soon. Cautiously she left him and went to the bathroom to take a shower. She didn't feel at all uncomfortable being naked in his bedroom but on her way she grabbed a large T-shirt from the ground – it was obviously his, but it didn't matter. She liked feeling his scent on herself.

She let the hot water wash through her and enjoyed the luxury of just standing there for almost half an hour. Stepping out she saw Alex was already there. He handed her the towel and watched as she slowly dried herself. His gaze was hotly burning her skin and she felt she flushed.

Rosalie smiled at him and walked to her bag in the corner of the bedroom entirely aware of his eyes following her every step. Okay, maybe she was a bit overdoing it, her hip dancing with every step much more than ordinary, but who cared? She was in a good mood after spent the night in a man's bed and said man was watching her so intensively at the moment that it made her blood boil in her veins.

She found what she was searching for at last, a body lotion she had bought yesterday. She walked back to the bathroom and started to cream her legs. She let out a pleased sigh as her dry skin absorbed the lotion - another luxury she had not been able to afford lately. The man couldn't stand the sight any longer and gently took it out of her hand.

His palm was rough in sharp contrary of the gentle way he massaged her body. She closed her eyes to concentrate only on his experienced fingers which already knew where her skin was the most sensitive. After he reached the middle of her thighs, he continued with her arms, slipping on her shoulder, then taking her slim waist between his hands and moving upwards, scrubbing and massaging.

She didn't know when he kissed her first, she didn't know when it turned into making love, but she didn't really care.

***

"We should go to the Bank." She said putting on her grass green blouse. For a moment she struggled with the little white buttons then reached into her bag for a long skirt of a deeper shade of the same colour. It was made of a creased cloth so the transport in the bag hadn't touched its form and elegance. It had white lace-work at the bottom, similar to the white laced tights she was wearing. She took black high-heel shoes, black ornamental earrings so long almost touching her shoulder and a black bag.

When she glanced at Alex at his silence, his eyes were wide with shock. "What?" She started to comb her hair and arrange it into a loose bun.

"You look… at least twenty-three." Finally he continued dressing staring at his simple faded jeans and deciding against it.

She sighed. "Thanks Alex, this was the kindest compliment I've ever heard." She turned around with a little makeup-case and went into the bathroom.

"I mean… you're gorgeous of course, but… you always are and that's not what I meant. You seem rather a mature woman than a teenage girl."

"You too." He heard her quietly chuckling. "About the mature part at least – you're definitely male. I guess this job is just growing people older. D'you come with me?"

"So… you stick to your decision?" The girl just raised one eyebrow. "Yeah, I'll accompany you. Not that I would have other option." He chose black jeans from the wardrobe and a white shirt, but he kept his trainers from the original plan. Rosalie might be able to run on high heels, he didn't want to ruin his black leather shoes. He still remembered the torturing experience when he had had to go with Jack and search one matching his suit.

Ian had had a black suitcase – surprisingly enough it surfaced when he had been packing. He didn't know what security system it had exactly, but suspected it was strong enough to keep safe the few documents he swept into it from the desk. Rosalie smiled at him and handed her ones as well. For a moment he wondered how much this suitcase had seen, but then again, it was not like he would have a choice. They still didn't have anything at all in the fridge, so the girl suggested they could stop at a cafeteria. It was still quite early in the morning and they had nowhere to hurry.

They automatically acted as a couple, not to say a _married_ couple. The waitress didn't try to flirt with him this time and no man stopped at their table to talk to the woman. It was just peaceful and it – waking up with the woman in his bed, then a slow love-making in the bathroom, having breakfast at a cafeteria acting – _being_ – a couple before going to the _Bank _for a talk with their _bosses _–, felt frighteningly normal for him.

***

The table on the door was discreet with casual metal letters on the wood. It looked exactly as the previous one, but this time, it named Charles Grant as the owner of the office room. Alex didn't bother to knock, he glanced at Rose and when she briefly nodded, opened the door. They both wore the mask they used in the presence of people knowing their job: emotionless, cold and a bit bored.

Charles Grant was only forty-three years old – too few to be the leader of a department but surprisingly much in his line of work. Mr. Grant had been a spy decades ago. He had had many successful actions behind his back and maybe yet more unsuccessful ones. However, he had not reach this position with completing missions: he had little talent and sense to do those and he would have died should he have continued. No, Charles Grant was known for his brave and violent tactics and through many dirty political attempts finally managed to get this position.

It was gossiped though, that this time he wouldn't follow his previous routine, forcing his staff work like a slave or madman in a stahanovistic system, firing everybody he considered insufficient and reaching many times better rate so in about twelve-fourteen months – then accepting another challenge and getting his step higher.

"Mr. Grant." Rose was way more polite she would have needed. Alex just nodded, automatically putting on his role like a second skin. They sat down into the chairs without hesitation. It was the same play they had done many times: Rosalie enthusiastic and smiling while Alex harshly telling what they wanted.

The man glanced up from his papers at the spies, but no surprise appeared on his face. He knew they were coming. He signed where he stopped and closed the files he had been reading pushing them onto the side of his desk.

"Mr. Rider, Ms.…" He stopped hesitatingly.

"Just Rose." She flashed a bright smile at him.

"Ms. Rose." He didn't smile back at her but she visibly wasn't bothered by that at all. "Good to see you." He said searching in one of the drawers of his desk. His tone wasn't reflecting anything of goodness. He was obviously just as blunt as Blunt was. "As you were informed of it, Mr. Blunt… left us, and I was the signed one to take his position."

"If I had been they, I would have fired him long ago. However they don't seem to learn from their mistakes just getting blinder and blinder by the time." Alex said this as if stating a fact, with the exact tone he had used a moment ago, as if complaining about the many insects around his head the thousandth time knowing nobody was listening to him.

Grant slowly leant back against his rolling chair and examined his hands for a moment before meeting Alex's gaze with his cold light blue eyes. His glance was emotionless but very uncomfortable, though the boy didn't flinch a bit. "Some people higher up felt uncomfortable just a year before the elections with the knowledge that their man was using a fourteen-year-old to do the dirty job. I personally think it was a great idea – not using children to go on missions but fully using your unusual talents and, well, with your heritage you could be our strongest weapon." He glanced back from him and made triangles of his fingers. The boy quietly groaned.

"Of course I didn't mention this to them, I just promised to finish this case and dot." He stared deeply into his eyes. "This means…" he started slowly, "that I can't force you to work for us anymore." Now he was watching the door. "Not that I would think that you could go back into your previous lifestyle again. Spying is not like that. Also, we would have to make sure you aren't crossing their plans.

We wouldn't kill you, nobody would go that far, but you would have to be erased from life, sent away, breaking every connections. And it wouldn't be us who would knock out an assassin should it be about that. You know a fair share about how this works. You'd be a dead weight. Think about this until I talk to Ms.… Rose."

"Thank you very much, _Charlie_, but I'm perfectly aware of my decision."

"Are you?" He asked bluntly. His voice remained even but Alex could see the surprise in his eyes. Obviously he had thought he could make him uncertain with his little speech. Oh, how little did he know him!

Rose glared at him and Grant was amused to see the virtual lightning burning Alex. The two were obviously not in the best relationship despite all the dangerous situations they had survived together. Her accent was audible for his ears and he felt content that he was able to spit it out from the girl's voice. He didn't know Rose was going to switch back to her usual pronunciation of perfect English the time she had got out the hundred yards area of the Bank.

"Alex and me… we would highly appreciate if you arranged some paperwork for us." She smiled at him and the man wondered the reason behind it.

"What kind of paperwork?" he asked cautiously.

"We did and saw and survived many things. Things no child at our age should do and see. We fought battles no child should ever fight. And this changed us, changed our lives, our personality, our relationships, our family, our friends. We can never go back to normal and just be children. We have grown up. And we aren't children anymore. We shouldn't be treated as children anymore." Her face was hard and suddenly all the warmth disappeared from it.

"We want you to give us official majority." Alex's voice was a bit hoarse as he glared at him.

"We… know that we have no way back. We don't want to stuck at one place either."

"We want you to clear our status and the chance to be able to decide whether we go for the particular mission or not. And, first of all, some time when we can try if this works and take a step back if it isn't. Part-time agents for some probation." Grant wasn't able to hide his surprise for moments, but then he recovered and nodded thoughtfully. His brain was already working on the next steps.

"This was all we have wanted. Bye, Charlie." Alex lifted from his seat heading towards the door.

"Actually… There would be a job for you should you decide for it." His voice was thoughtful, he was deep in thought. They patiently waited until he continued glancing instinctively at each other.

"Yes?" Rose asked slowly.

"It's not a real job or mission… we just have a bet actually… well, some gossips are going round at SAS. I'm not really fond of them, you know." His smile was not something a spy should have afforded but he visibly decided to use honesty as his main weapon – doing the opposite his predecessor had. "I would truly like stopping the gossips and winning the bet…"

"And we would have your goodwill, I guess?" Alex lifted his brow. "What's the… exercise?"

"Showing them they are not that tough they think themselves to be. Knocking out the most SAS soldiers you can, maybe. False alarm, for example. Whatever you want to." He thought for a moment. "You get seven days and £400 to give them the biggest strike you can."

**To be continued...**


	5. 4: Need to be fixed

Hey all,

I've been rather sad about not getting any reviews... If you didn't like it, flame me, but this silence...

Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to the two people who got me on their lists - as an only reactions for my latest chapter. If you don't enjoy this, let me know: I won't bother editing it to a readable form just write for myself then.

Anyway, you get some more information about what had happened and how they had gotten sooo close.

Alex isn't mine. Only Rose. And the lovely Grant.

**Chapter 4**** – Need to be fixed**

"Could I see your tickets?" The ticket-inspector leaned closer to the couple. The blond man lifted his head and cautiously nodded, reaching out into the pocket of his jacket hanging from the hook next to him. The woman sleeping on his chest didn't flinch at all. The ticket-inspector nodded, remembering to come and wake up the sympathetic young couple when they reached their station. They were travelling to London from Eynsford.

They must have been visiting a relative, maybe introducing his girlfriend to his parents. Or the opposite and the man wasn't able to sleep because of the disturbing memories of their reactions. Jack smiled comprehending him as he remembered the time when Susie had introduced him to her parents. It had been awkward and terrible and he had had nightmares for a month. They invited them again, and Susie wanted to visit them. He sighed. It was not likely he would enjoy it, but he had to do this much for his wife.

He observed the couple a last time and quietly closed the door behind his back. When he would come back for them, the man and his girlfriend would disappear – they would cautiously take an earlier station in case somebody would bind them to the children destroying the SAS. It was very unlikely but better safe than sorry.

They would take the Tube, the woman leaning against the man slightly, covering the bag in which a camera was to be found – with pictures of bound SAS soldiers. It was eight in the morning: a young couple visited their bank to arrange their money, maybe asking for credit to buy a house ensemble. The man opened the door for her and she smiled back at him, then still standing in the door kissed him, her eyes glinting in the sunlight.

It was the first time when Peter started to think he was wrong. Or, better say, his bosses had been wrong. He knew he was making a mistake - never watch the picture of your target more than once in a safe place - as he pulled out the picture from his pocket. A man was standing next to a woman; they were about to step into the house. He had brown hair and his clothes were the type casual in the Middle East: the clothes of a young Jewish man. Also, the woman next to him was black hairy and she had a much darker skin than now. But they were obviously the same couple, in front of their new house in Tel Aviv, then here stepping into a bank... the Royal and General Bank.

Peter shifted uncomfortably. He walked to a cafeteria down the street and buying a journal ordered a cup of coffee. He didn't like it, but he counted whatever they were doing, they were going to be in the bank for at least ten minutes – it was safer to leave his position for some time, as there were cameras and guards everywhere...

***

"Twenty units. Astounding." His voice was even and emotionless but a light was glinting in his eyes.

"Charlie." Alex answered bored.

"This was more than I expected. Here are the papers you wanted. You are both adults from now. You can dispose over your money, schooling, and you can_ work in full time._"

"Thank you, Charlie, this is very generous of you. Is there anything else?" She asked seeing the hesitation on his face.

"Yes." He didn't continue though as it was something uncomfortable that he was about to say. "I guess you remember... the 16th of December last year?" Rosalie looked at Alex confused, but he nodded.

"It was the date of our wedding. Our _cover_ wedding." He said menacingly. "What about it?" The man didn't seem to reply, so Alex glanced at Mrs Jones standing calmly in the corner of the room.

"According to the law, officially… you're married. We could have refer to your underage, but actually right now with these papers," she nodded towards the documents "you're a married couple by the law. It will take time, but of course we have taken measures. You don't need to worry about it." She seemed somehow worried about this however. "Your divorce will be done in... in a month."

They expected him to explode as he had used to do it, but his voice was just tired. "Anything else?"

The heads exchanged glances then Grant answered with a no. The couple walked out of the room without a word. Alex didn't even notice where he was until he reached the entrance. He stopped for a second then took a deep breath and hurried out of it. This time, he didn't let the woman go before him.

The blond man stepped out of the bank. If Peter had been taught to the rules of courtesy, he would have wondered why the man stepped in front of the woman not only not opening her the door but going out first. But he wasn't taught to such rules, he lived all in his life on the streets, then afterwards with Scorpia – and on Malagosto weren't lessons of courtesy.

Still uncertain about his mission he followed the couple.

"What are you thinking about?" His question was obvious, but the gentle tone he asked it changed the meaning.

"I don't know... what I should think about this."

He nodded and embraced her waist pulling her closer. They walked in silence, not awkward, but comforting, the one you don't have to speak because you already feel the words and know the answers. All he would have said was in the way his hand rested around her waist, his fingers caressing her side. She took her hand onto his shoulder.

They slowly stopped and Alex's heart dumped painfully with happiness as he took her into his arms and the woman's soft lips kissed him back. It told more than any words could have told and he wanted the world to stop and keep this soft sunshine breaking through the thick grey clouds, this sweet taste on his mouth, this scent in the air which was impossible to catch still he sensed it, _her_ scent.

They walked home, hand in hand. Alex was thinking that he should call Jack on at last. He should introduce her his wife. He couldn't help but grin crazily at this thought – Jack hadn't been there on his wedding! She was going to be furious.

There was no sign, no change in the pass of the world. No suspicious movement, no frightening image. Later he would never be able to tell what it was, neither what he did exactly. Everything he was able to recall was the moment right before it. It was the sight of a businessman ten metres down the street. He didn't act suspiciously nor did anything in particular until that moment. His hands were casually in his pocket.

Afterwards, Rosalie would tell he pushed her away throwing to the ground and moving away. He would remember the strong beat on his side and one more on his stomach, then blackness and her voice screeching his name with a desperation – _again_. God, what he was going to get for this!

***

Grant's eyes grew wild as they entered the room. The second time that day. Their faces were emotionless as always when they talked to him, but now, hatred filled Rosalie's eyes.

"What…" Mrs. Jones started but she was silenced by the glare Rose produced.

"You." She pointed at them. "Give. Us. Guns." Grant frowned and helplessly exchanged a glance with Mrs. Jones.

"Er…"

Alex sighed and managed to moan in a painful voice, clearing his throat. "We don't really like being shot at while not having a simple pistol, she meant."

Grant's face was fabulous for a moment, if he had got more air, Alex would have grinned. The assassin couldn't have known they were still wearing the bulletproof vests they had used last night, but if he had remained where he had been, letting the bullet find its way to his heart, his previous wound would have certainly reopened. Rosalie continued shooting angry glares at them as she explained the situation. Alex decided to let her explain and sank into a flood of memories.

_»She had smoky grey eyes with almond-cut. He didn't see anything besides that, but he caught that little sight impossibly detailed. He saw the little darker dots around her iris and the long eyelashes embracing the unique shape._

_He didn't know why he had caught it. He didn't know why he had remembered it. He didn't know who she was or what she had to do with MI6. But after three days spent in the grip of those smoky grey eyes, he decided he would find out. Love at first sight, Jack said mockingly, but he didn't laugh…_

_The next time he was able to think clearly and straight was in Tel Aviv, when he realized the size of the task and he knew he was in the worst situation in his life – and it was him who put himself there. He glanced aside to see her soon-to-be-wife and knew he couldn't leave her here alone…_

_It was two weeks after their arrival when the man came for him. Alex could see the fear in her eyes and knew their cover was blown. Strangely he was glad: she was going to be fine, sitting on the first plane back to London when he would be executed at last, if things turned bad. He was visibly military – but this didn't grant anything, even less, considering he was wearing usual clothes. Bad sign…_

_One more time, he was grateful for MI6. Building into the organization was harder than they had thought and it was going to take a lot of time before they could collect enough information about them. He feared he wasn't going to be _fit_ enough to do the hard work – and he couldn't let all the fight on _her_. The men were Mossad and MI6 told them about him and his cover mission. He was going to be working for them…_

_Levi Kroll was close enough. They had tried Scorpia and knew it was impossible so. The next choice was the mafia – in Israel. It was a dangerous game: Alex worked for Mossad at the same time, while in daylight Rose acted like any Jewish woman, waiting for his husband to return from work. They had got a new flat in the centre of Tel Aviv, down under the building were old catacombs Mossad used for fight practice…_

_On their wedding, they already knew they had attracted the attention of mafia on themselves but they couldn't help it, they had to keep acting. Mossad warned them that there may have been some bugs in their flat, a man with video camera on the next roof… _

_Afterwards, Alex once joked about he being the virgin on their bridal night. The girl told him the reason why she was chasing Scorpia and Alex never mentioned it again, just hated the terrorists even more…_

_He remembered her face when, at some occasions they were surely being watched, he overplayed his role. Though, after some time, their emotional relationship started to catch up with the physical part and they sat in the kitchen next to a bottle of wine (the girl didn't drink just water because of the pregnancy they made up as a reason to move back to his 'homeland') and spoke all the night about their lives. And he hated Scorpia even more…_

_His wife was beautiful and they pretended to move here because of her unwanted pregnancy (Alex though could feel the admiring glances of some men that he could get a bitch that exquisite into his bed), they were supposed to be in physical contact: thinking back about it, it was inevitable they got attached. He could remember the first time they made love instead of just having sex for somebody watcher's sake - it was his sweetest memory for a year…_

_And he could truly feel the pain again, his own and hers. It happened like in a bad movie… he tried to save her, once. He should have died, that day, but he told fate he didn't want to - a mistake he soon regretted. Then afterwards, when during the long weeks of his torture, her image in his heart began to fade and feeling he was dying couldn't bear the agonizing pain any longer, he realized the hole in himself, the hole she left, and he knew she was the most precious thing on his world…_

_The next time, he didn't let it happen. He felt he was playing a role, the role of the hero in a movie but he knew he was never going to be whole again, there hadn't been happy ending for them – he jumped in front of her and that bullet of Scorpia, the second he had got from them, killed him at last…_

_Scorpia definitively killed the boy he had once been and erased him from his soul. The new Alex was somebody else, somebody whose first memories were his wife's screeches as she was trying to stop his bleeding...«_

"–we will have to fix this." Grant was saying when he returned from his reverie. "I suggest you should remain in the building."

"Right. We visit Smithers. See you later, Charlie." He bent to the door while Rose gave the head the last disdaining glance.

**To be continued…**


	6. 5: Day Number Oh

Okay, **important A/N:** (hi all btw... :D) Yes, I did. I couldn't stand it... I love stories about Alex being stuck at SAS camp, so I write my own version. I don't even say it's going to be tried to be unique, some parts will not be any way. The differences: he's not alone, he's not known, he's a lot freer than usually and they won't be there all the time. So:

The most I can do about it, is offering an alternative reading way. People bored from SAS chapters (in the followings: SASCH) not wanting to read it: you can go on to Chapter ... (as soon as it's online this latter will be completed), I promise the story will be comprehensive for you as well.

* * *

**Warning:** SASCH (haha, you wanted to skip all the talk above, right? I _did _sayit was important, now you don't know what the warning's about...)

**Chapter ****5 – Day Number Oh**

They were sitting at their usual table. It seemed a usual day. Thinking back, maybe a bit too usual. But the betrayal, _this_ betrayal caught them off guard. Last year, when they were training, they thought they hadn't been tough enough, or they had been too tough or it had been random and K had been the letter they had pulled out of the hat. But right now, they started to feel like somebody high above their heads didn't like them. Better say _hated_ them.

They were said to babysit S Unit while they were having a refreshing course, just like they. The difference between them was that the Ss finished training only a month ago. And then at some point they had been unlucky enough to run into a terrorist organization which sent them onto the floor – with their noses towards the ground. Serious unluckiness, but at least they survived it, and in the future there would be less chance for fate to cross their plans. Accidents happen all the time.

But Wolf was pretty sure somebody was helping a bit on the cruelty of fate to achieve _this_ shit. It was just not normal. To top of that, it was _double_ the shit they were in than last time. Somebody above their heads was _too_ high.

When the two walked in, all head turned after them. It was unusual sight, this was sure. It could have seemed normal from a distance but the aura around them told at the first moment something was wrong.

The man was short with blonde hair. He seemed somehow strangely ageless, young and old at the same time. But more than that, he was walking next to a _woman,_ about the same indefinable age. She had rosy-red hair she wore in a loose bun. They were both wearing fatigues as if they were SAS – besides the fact the SAS didn't allow women to be at their camp.

She smiled at him and nodded while taking their tray of food and sitting down… Yes, of course, they were heading towards _them_. Everybody, even the sergeants were holding back their breaths since they had entered, and now sixty astounded soldier was watching where they headed.

The hall was silent, a fly could have been heard, but the noise of their steps in the heavy military boots lost somehow. Silently, Wolf was praying, surprised at how much he remembered from his childhood, swearing soundlessly he would go to the church every Sunday, if this shit had not been theirs, just for the sake of variety.

Obviously, God didn't need his services.

"Wolf, Snake, Eagle. Can we sit down?" He didn't wait for the answer; they took seats at their table. At _their_ table. Typical. The Colonel entered the dining barrack. His gaze ran on the eating couple who didn't even look up and sighed, sitting down to his place at the table of the officers. Quiet indignation followed the dead silence, and Wolf felt all the soldiers keep glancing towards their table.

"Who the hell are you?" The question was Goat's as his unit saw the Ks wasn't going to phrase it. The blond man patiently took off his spoon and broke from his bread.

"I'm Cub. You can call her Ama, by the way." He was going to have a hard time getting used to his old name again.

"But what the hell are you doing here… _again_?" Snake seemed to find his voice. Alex shrugged. A soldier came closer to their table with his unit letting them know his opinion in a mocking voice.

"Did you make Dad angry at you again, little Cubbie? It's not really practical irritating a head at MI6…" He laughed and not waiting for his answer walked by. Alex saw the gossiping soldiers at the tables from the corner of his eyes. He wasn't here for more than five minutes, and he was already hated. Again. He thought of his last mission and grinned at his meal.

"_They don't know anything about you. Does your unit have more information about what you're doing?" _Her soft Arabian mumble attracted the nearby units' attention, but they were not able to comprehend it – she had chosen a language they were not supposed to know, not at that level.

"_I guess not. Everything about me is classified. I thought Wolf knew it after he had seen me on a mission when I was snowboarding down a mountain with an ironing board, but__- he obviously didn't. Didn't realize what it means or simply doesn't care." _Alex shrugged and continued eating. The less they knew about him, the better.

The soldiers ate slowly, and the couple was done sooner than them although Alex and Rose had come much later than the official dinner time. They stood up from the table only nodding to their new units.

"_You're wordless." _Her whispered statement was obvious, but he knew she was just concerned about her. _"Once you mentioned you don't like them and your time here was like hell. Why?"_

"_SAS is the worst – along MI6 – of all the agencies and organizations I've ever met. CIA is just sour, the ASIS doesn't help you anything just jumps into action, but there, I was much more treated like a human form than a piece of shit, like here. At Scorpia, everybody was loose and concentrated but they were glad to have me there… Too bad they tried to teach me killing people. Not the training is the worst, sweating and doing exercises, but the air around, the feeling that you're unwanted."_

"I'm sorry."She whispered, and he found much more comfort in these simple words than anytime before – she was maybe the only one he let comfort him. It was ironical enough that it had turned out to be the safest place for them, the same force they had proved to be weak only yesterday. But Scorpia couldn't attack them here so easily, the camp was secured from every possible danger in a miles circle – as long as they were going to be able to keep their little secret about that insignificant accident yesterday…

Soldiers passed by and Alex knew they were new recruits, he felt it from the way they were acting, their motions too stiff, their faces cautious. For a moment he felt pity even although he knew they had chosen it. He sighed and recalled some of his time at the Mossad. They had been good to him and admired his abilities, but they were somehow far from him, living in the world of fanatic religion. There, religion was the one defining their lives, that ruled what they did and how they did.

At Scorpia, that looseness came from the knowledge, the knowledge there weren't many people on world who could kill them or do better than they. The assassins were quick and lethal.

He sighed heading towards the hut he was going to sleep. She walked by his side silently looking around and absorbing every detail which was going to help her during the upcoming days. He wanted to take her hand, but knew it wouldn't make any good so he kept himself to his promise trying to keep his wife out of the most danger and uncomfortable situation possible. Slightly he wondered when he had become so overprotective about her, but _that_ part of his life had nothing pleasant to remember to.

She wouldn't need it, he knew that. Somewhere deep inside, he had known that the first time he had got lost in those smoky grey eyes. That very first time, he had unconsciously already realized this, but it had taken him much time to be able to define it. It was the same reason his gaze first caught that particular glimpse that day in the hall of the bank: she had _that _inside her.

She had moved with the grace only assassins would have and her eyes reflected the same _his_ had: the knowledge this world was no perfect, the knowledge, there were things _truly bad_. This knowledge could not be erased afterwards when some returned to normal life, this knowledge remained there in the old soldiers' eyes, in some policemen's, doctors' and nurses' who knew the world was fake with no overall justice.

Wolf fumbled over and glared with his best glare hoping he could be intimidating. Behind him came the others from the two units proving Alex didn't lose his way. His schedule was good enough. This building had not been the same they had had, the new recruits were on the other side of the valley being forced to come over every time they other occupation than sleeping – therefore most of the day.

The units who were already on duty got larger huts – and for the sake of the 'parenting' they did, the two units had the same hut, now completed with two new beds for the couple.

"You gonna sleep here?!" Chamois expressed his surprise and disbelief with some more verbs that Alex could faintly recognise as French, somewhere from the countryside in South-West France. Maybe this was the reason behind his originally French codename.

"I would have preferred sleeping somewhere alone, but obviously…" His voice was bored. He had previously decided that even if he hadn't had a real choice, he wouldn't take this as an assignment. He would take this as training, and he wasn't going to pretend so. If MI6 wanted to keep his identity, he would arrange that. He knew his voice hadn't been right from the mouth of the boy they saw him, but he didn't care. He had had enough pretending lately and he couldn't know how long had he been stuck here.

He headed towards the door but Wolf grabbed his shoulder. What a luck he had seen the movement from the corner of his eyes – the soldier wouldn't have possibly preferred being knocked out by a boy on his very first day. His voice was low but menacing.

"I don't what you two are doing here, but I don't like it. And I won't let you screw up things." He slammed the door behind himself. Alex sighed and followed him inside the hut wondering how worse it could get. Wolf had seen him at Point Blanc, had sent him a card when he was shot by Scorpia (the very first time), though he could understand the soldier just wanted to keep his unit out of trouble, as far from MI6 and everybody related to them, as possible.

He was going to take this as a lecture, he decided. A lecture that he could be one of the most experienced fighters at the camp, he could have given lessons for Mossad agents and done most of their training; here he was the one being taught and he had to stand it as long as there wasn't a better solution for the situation he had put himself in.

He looked over their schedule and the order their Sergeant must have gotten by now. He also had a copy of his file given them, but he didn't open that: he had already seen it hadn't contained anything, not even his age. There were just headlines and crosses as the letters repeated the same line by line: CLASSIFIED.

A quick smile passed his handsome face thinking about what the SAS had possibly said about this mountain of information, and he just read further the order. They remained here until the situation with Scorpia got clear, so for quite plenty of time. They were going to get tutors teaching them two hours in the evenings about the school material they lost. Alex was pretty surprised about this but then just shrugged, _must be for the sake of the worrying heads Charlie – Grant! – talked about. _He winced as he called his boss by his first name and decided it was good for one mock, but nothing more.

They were no friends.

Moving on, he discovered a fairly interesting line under the long text of their must-dos and threw up the paper to the woman having the bed above his. "What does this mean by your opinion?"

The woman easily found the line he questioned and let a huge smile spread on her face. "Doing whatever we want to without having any authority of the SAS above us? I'm beginning to like Grant. Maybe he's not that stupid we thought him to be." Alex snorted.

" 'Not having to follow the schedule of their normal SAS units, not having to follow the commands about their activities of the sergeants, not being required to obligatorily do any activities besides the followings (…) as long as they follow the general rules of the camp.' " He read aloud. "Oh, and don't forget the 'not having to take any responsibility for their reactions in answer to a provocation of the soldiers. Wow. This is gonna be interesting."

**To be continued…**

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Next time**, the training startsand we'll get to know what they are going to do on their first day and how the others will react to their arrival.:D

Get the joke in the first part? Hands high, who noticed it already at the first time?

_You're right, this button leads_

_ you to the review panel!_ _:D_


	7. 6: Schedule

_Huge thanks to everybody who read it, reviewed, subscribed or simply just enjoyed it.

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**Warning:** SASCH_

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Chapter 6**** - Schedule**

The sky above Wales was covered by clouds which brought rain and wetness into the area. The emerald green of the grass seemed grey in the faint dawn light – it must have been less than four o'clock. The sun was yet nowhere from rising, the air was chilly and misty. Everything was motionless just as the man, sitting on a hill. He was watching the world under him, the valley covered by tents, huts and barracks – an SAS camp.

It was peaceful now, as nobody moved; the men were sleeping in their hard beds knowing the daylight would bring exercises needing all their strengths.

Meditation was something he had learnt at Scorpia, then at his six months with Mossad he discovered the usefulness of this ability. When you couldn't chase away nightmares or had a bad feeling about the upcoming day, you could gain some energy with it, more than from a restless sleep.

He sat there for another half an hour before he stood up heading down towards their hut.

The soldiers were still asleep, but Rose was awake searching in her bag. Alex went to his own to find himself a shampoo, then grabbed a towel and his uniform. They walked to the little building between the two neighbouring huts in comfortable silence.

Ama sighed knowing she was not going to have the luxury of hot water for thirty minutes for a long time again. She took off her clothes without flushing. At Mossad, almost all the agents they had trained with had seen her naked – Alex had often had to take care of tall men considering her only a sexual tool. But then again, she was not going to pretend. They were not on an assignment, they were _living_ here. It was too early for the other soldiers though.

She fought the urge to run over to him and kiss him, but she knew if somebody had opened the door…

Just for a minute, he thought, taking her into his arms kissing her deeply.

They had to draw back too soon, finishing the shower with racing pulses and flushed faces. The air outside was cold and misty when they silently took their sleeping clothes and towels beside the door of their hut and dropped into a slow run. After a minute, as their muscles warmed up, they started to run faster and rushed through the forest following the pace Alex remembered.

It was a long route. After about a mile running up the hill with full speed, they slowed down switching to a quick jogging. It was comfortable and familiar, something that felt normal for them. Their footsteps made a quiet thudding noise as they ran, soles against the Welsh soil. The forest was silent, mist was whirling around mysteriously. It didn't bother them: the whiteness might have been able to hide anything, but covered their shapes as well.

The couple was only two dark shapes in the thick mist the tall oaks gathered from the air, two ghosts motioning with the elegance of a deer. They kept their breathings even and when they returned to the camp, slowing down to a mild walk, nobody could have guessed they had already run five miles today.

Their stuff was where they had left it. When they got in, their team-mates were about to dress up. They didn't ask anything although it must have bothered their curiosity. Alex packed something in his bag while Rosalie combed her hair and arranged it into a strict tight bun again. The men's faces were unbelieving at this sign of female personality and exchanged astounded and tortured expressions amongst each other. Eagle seemed to be about saying something but then he just shook his head again. It was too early for a quarrel.

The men were even more surly than otherwise. The fourth, replacement member of K Unit whose name was still unknown for the spies, glanced towards them often, but didn't say a word. The soldiers cast a last glance at them then walked out of the hut, telling them by the unspoken communication they were not going to take care of them. Alex didn't mind it the least: they hadn't wanted to go with them and do what they did anyway.

He didn't know if Wolf had heard their silent conversation last night, but again, didn't care.

"We should take all the classes this morning to see which is going to be usable. I guess you don't care where our units go or do, right?" Rosalie asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Then we can simply go for the vacancies. During the classes we will have found useless most of the fields is going to be free. Also, when it's getting too crowded, we can go out for outside practice to somewhere in the forest. We don't need to cross anybody's way." Alex simply nodded in agreement. It sounded better than his last time here.

When they reached the group of soldiers waiting for today's PT, the men quickly turned their backs towards them and the boy let a bit of smugness appear on his handsome face. Stepping into the line they automatically stood at attention. The Sergeant arrived just half a minute later shouting his orders around. Alex rather ignored him leaving himself on his instincts as when to shout a YES, SIR to the man.

The Sergeant was not the same he had had, this one was older, his hair turning grey from the original black. He had hard wrinkles on either side of his mouth which gave him a rather grim look. He stepped in front of them, but chose rather not to say anything.

"DISMISSED." He yelled at the men, but the two spies didn't move. They stood there as motionlessly as two statues. The eye of the sergeant started twitching.

"Could we see the others' schedule, sir?" Alex asked calmly. Only his mouth was moving, his body froze in one place.

"We could plan our own schedule in order not disturb anybody else so." Rose added. The man thought for a moment, visibly not wanting to give the 'children' what they wanted, however the temptation to get them out of the five miles area of his men was very strong. Finally, he gave in and handed her the schedule.

Rose ran her eyes through it, nodded and gave it back to the man in fifteen seconds. "Thank you very much. Sir." He raised his brow at her but soundlessly watched as they headed back towards the barracks. He was still staring towards their direction long after they disappeared in the mist.

"I suggest we should take all the lessons today to see which are usable. We would both get… four blue points with this." Her mouth twitched to a mocking smile.

"For a week, we need twenty." Alex recalled their order. "So... blue points are got with lessons. The green ones are with field-work, needed nine per week. Red ones, reachable with shooting practice or tool use practice, fourteen." He moaned. "So much about our cover. We'll need every time there's a vacancy spent at the shooting rage."

"That's not my only favourite. Have you seen the forty brown points? Each for a round at the assault course. It's like a joke."

"If you complete six ones each day, it takes about… one and a half hour. It's just to take our time, nothing else."

"Okay, blue - lessons, red - tools, brown - assault course, green - forest time, what else is there?" She quietly moaned. "Tell me we don't need combat experience!"

"Sixteen black points, each for half an hour practice." He frowned. "Somebody was very high finding this out. It means more than an hour per day! With teachers we can easily beat?"

"Charlie _is _insane. That's all, right?"

"No, another one's here," He read the paper carefully. "driving for ten purple – _purple!_ – points, I don't know what this should mean… Driving a _car_?" She shrugged.

"It's not like MI6 would have found this out alone… I guess they gave the case to some kindergarten not to hurt our… immature part. The next will be a school psychologist telling us to draw our fears out of ourselves with a couple of colourful pencils, I can see now. The drawings could decorate the dining barrack's walls later."

He smiled. "See you after your medicine." The woman nodded and comfortably walked to the appropriate barrack. They shared their abilities at work, cooperating better than anybody else at the secret agencies. She had a steady knowledge about most of the usable parts of sciences while he was proof with Geography, General Politics, Strategy Planning and kept up with the latest military news and developments. They learnt a language till they reached a comprehending level of it, then left all the polishing fluent-learning work to the other.

Working as a team, they needed to learn only the half of everything after they reached the intermediate level. It spared them a lot of time and energy with reaching a highest level of expertise possible in case of assassins and spies. Last year in Tel Aviv, she had studied some at the Sackler Faculty of Tel Aviv University**(i)** and now, although she had no official degree in medicine, she knew everything in general. This wide-stretching general knowledge had been upgraded at special parts and now she would have been able to write a book titled "All the things that you need to be able to survive – medical guide for spies/SO agents and assassins/terrorists".

Maybe this was why she got nothing new at the lesson although she had chosen the highest class. In the contrary, she could feel the annoyed and angry glances she got from the soldiers. This lesson was designed for the unit medics and most of them had had some time spent at hospitals or having medical degrees – yet, their knowledge about the use of medicine on the battlefield was a bit… dull.

She had to realize, again, that most of the men was indeed working, fighting for their country at military, and despite that, SAS preserved their feeling of a job. For them, this was a job. At Christmas, they returned to their family – and they didn't need to worry about exploding their house, about assassins shooting their children, about their wives being raped in their absence. If they had decided, they could quit. They could sign a pile of papers and they were free.

Despite everything, these men preserved their normality. They were average men having a special job.

She sighed as the class ended – she hadn't learnt anything new – and headed towards the barrack Alex had had Strategy lesson at. She leant against the wall next to the door until she heard the grating of the chairs. The teacher left with a strange expression and Rose knew Alex had managed to put himself in a situation as always. She sighed and opened the door.

The soldiers all looked funny and despite their struggling to hide their emotions she discovered the disbelief in them. Her husband was sitting in the last row, his eyes closed, his expression relaxed. So quietly it was barely audible, she softly whistled once using the same signal they had had at Tel Aviv letting the other know about their presence. Slowly, he opened his eyes and she could see the mental exhaustion in them.

"How was your class?" She mumbled wishing she could come over and massage his shoulders as she would do. She sat down onto the side of his desk.

"Nothing particularly interesting." His gaze wondered on Wolf who had this class as well, though _his_ chance to be here was the outcome of hard work for months. "The teacher was quite irritated with me here and thought to spare my time and show I was just not capable keeping up with them." For a moment, his eyes burnt her neck where he would gently bite and kiss the smooth white skin, embracing her fragile figure, had they not been _here_.

He quickly snatched his gaze away and bit his lip smiling joyfully while she blushed. The little interaction did what the five mile run had not been able to: their breathing accelerated, their hearts were racing. She nervously chuckled once trying to hide her rosy cheeks behind her long hair she would do – but her soft pink curls were being forced back to a strict bun.

"Anyway, how was _your_ class?" He said trying to distract himself. Her rosy cheeks were just too sweet a sight. He could feel the familiar desire flame up in him. She pouted.

"First aid of higher level burnt injuries. It was… rather… you know." She sighed and Alex nodded. He understood.

The Sergeant rushed in, attracting their attention on him – the officers _never_ rushed. He motioned towards them and the slightly relaxed look disappeared from their faces. "You two come with me." His voice was trembling with anger. Rose could feel the intense glare on her as they passed by him. They headed out towards the valley to find Mrs. Jones standing amongst a group of interested soldiers.

"Mrs. Jones." His voice was calm and even as always. Their cold and hard assassinate mask had slipped on place the moment they had glanced her.

"Alex, Rose." She greeted them shifting uncomfortably on her feet. "I'm sorry but we have to do this quickly and the offices are just too far." She handed him a black bag. "This bag is containing… some _presents_ from Smithers, he stated you would know how to use them." Alex nodded taking the bag which was surprisingly heavy. "These are your driving licenses; we arranged some lessons for you as you may have noticed. Not only cars, I can tell.

"Your new IDs, some official documents, mostly licenses. I have given a copy of your fund and the… er… transactions onto your accounts happened in the last… one and a half year. Also, I wanted to ask… if you are sure you don't want any official steps in the case of… of the 16th December. Think it carefully." She handed all the papers arranged in grey manila folders. The two spies looked at each other for a moment then Rose was the one telling their decision.

"We do not want any… official steps in the case." She answered cautiously. The soldiers were uncomfortably close trying to catch something about the mysterious couple.

"Right. I think that's all." She looked at them waiting sensing they wanted to ask something.

"We just wanted to ask… if…" He sighed. "Okay. We are supposed to go on combat experience lessons." He stopped.

"You need to stay in shape." Alex struggled to find a way to express their worries in English, but he saw there wasn't many ways for it. He thought for a moment about what language she may speak and almost started German, when he realized some of the men passing, walking and pacing around them were knocked out by him right after he spoke some German… He quickly decided by Arabian.

"We are equally, if not better trained than the men who are supposed to watch for us. You want us to fight with soldiers who don't really know anything about such techniques. I kick one of them and he may be paralysed for his entire life. I'm not capable of watching for _not to be too hard _when I'm fighting. I fight for my life, not for… fun or for practice. Not with somebody not capable to defend himself against me."

"I will ask Mr. Grant, but-"

"Thank you." He nodded. "That's all. Good bye Mrs. Jones." The woman lifted her brow.

"Good bye Mr. Rider." He emphasised his name. Alex thought for a moment, caught off guard by the answer, then a crooked smile spread on his face.

"Thank you, Tulip." The woman nodded smiling at the gentle tone and the kind smile on the handsome face. As she headed towards the jeep waiting for her, she felt a pang in her heart – she had seen this smile, she had heard these lines. Not only one time, she had heard and seen this _every_ time.

Every time John Rider returned from a mission.

**To be continued…

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**(i) **existing university and faculty

Thanks for all the people who reviewed! I hope you have found it interesting.

For those who didn't discover it: update-days are Monday and Thursday, so next chap will on in four days - if I get a lot of reviews maybe sooner.

_Yes, this is the review button!_


	8. 7: Teaching your lesson

**Warning: SASCH**

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**Chapter 7**** – Teaching your lesson**

"No." His voice was steady and calm, and even held a hint of boredom in it. It was as though a record played again and again. The sound made a shiver run down on the men's spine although they didn't give away any sign of this. They could have been gotten used to it as he would always speak in that _masked_ tone. The same his face would be.

Panther had never met such man before – he felt uncomfortable in his presence, always on his guard as though on a mission. It was unnerving: only twenty hours had they spent here and he was so stiff and exhausted from the constant tension around the two intruders it felt a disease. He was the youngest in his unit, and most of the time he was silent concentrating more on his behave. He was twenty-one and Cub seemed to be about around his age, still centuries away. For God's sake, the guy can't have passed his eighteenth (relatively) long ago!

"YOU LITTLE BRAT! HOW DO YOU DARE TO SAY ME NO!" It appeared the Sergeant was about to explode. His face turned dangerously purple, his veins markedly beating on his temple and at his neck. The white of his eyes disappeared to change to all red. His shouting was ear-destroying, Panther felt as if he was never going to hear again. He wondered how the blonde guy bore it: he was standing right in front of the shrieking officer, yet didn't flinch one time, his face keeping the all-same expression of calmness and faint boredom.

"'No' means we're not doing it." He replied politely, his quiet firm voice in sharp contraire of the Sergeant's.

Panther could not understand it. They were going to get enough punishment for three lifetimes, not winning anything at all with it: the exercise they were supposed to do was easy enough to go on with, no real exercise actually, just something to keep them busy and get used to the constant concentration and little time for relaxing. He slightly flinched as the Sergeant continued shouting.

Alex was all numb for now. All he wanted was to get free from the stupid exercise they were not able to do and take their time with something actually useful. He was stupid though, saying barely no for the violent and pushy order – he was just too used to Israel, damn it – and his reply yielded straight the Sergeant's need to shout and force them to do it, in order to save face. He could fully understand the man. He saw his point. He knew he would have done it as well, were it him, not having another choice.

But this didn't mean he gave in. He had fought himself the right for a life directed by himself and nobody else's orders, he deserved it. No matter what it meant, he couldn't give him what the wanted. It was against all the rules he played about, against everything sane.

He sighed. _God, he was taking his off-duty time! _He should have been somewhere comfortable with his wife in his arms, not at an SAS camp in freaking Wales. He had known what it would cost though, he had known that at the beginning, when he had accepted going to Israel, planning the revenge, taking down Scorpia. He had known his life would not be anything but a constant mission from then on. Fully on alert all the time, in danger all the time. He had known, and accepted.

But no annoying, bastard Sergeant had been in that deal.

"Look, it might be obligatory for all the soldiers of the camp to do this every time, but we won't. You can shout for another half an hour at me if you feel like it helps you processing this fact. Or you can do what you should and just let us alone. You will send them a report and they might give us punishment. But this argument is completely pointless." He used the man's sudden lack of air and rushed over the words, calmly, emotionlessly, bored. Before the man could answer, he turned his back towards him and just marched out of the building, leaving the astounded soldiers behind.

Rose stepped in front of him and he let her lead him wherever. He faintly realized they left the camp. The valley it was situated in, had once been the bend of a river, the barracks standing in the place of a natural pool. The water had come into the valley through a high waterfall to the other end where the water made its way through the rocks preparing a narrow hole in the hill. They were heading up towards the sharpest edge, the late waterfall.

Rose didn't stop reaching it and he was beginning to calm down as they climbed up all the way. The cliffs were grey, at some parts covered with green moss and smaller plants. The daily falling rain made the surface mucous and slippery and he was gasping for air to the time they reached the top. She turned back towards him to see if he was alright, then stepped to the side of the huge cave they were standing in.

Alex stepped next to her. The whole valley was visible, the camp only a dark spot in the greenness. He hadn't realized they had come so much, but now he could see it was a long trip up until here. She turned back, stepping close until, from inch to inch, their body slowly got connected. He stared into her eyes, deeply, letting the walls around him fall in.

He smiled softly when her lips gently, slowly, touched his. She always knew what he needed.

And then, suddenly, he gave in. His hungry lips crushed against hers and he pulled her closer with a sudden movement. The kiss was uncontrolled and wild, almost violent. He wanted to have her immediately, to feel her soft skin against his, to feel her fragile body around him.

Having sex was their most usual way to get free from the tension recently.

The noise was sudden and quiet, only a crack under a clumsy foot, followed by a subdued swear. They both jumped back at the very moment, their instincts on full attention. At the side of the rock, a red head appeared. _Snake. _Alex silently cursed, wishing him to hell.

He didn't need to sign Rose, she already stepped back, running a finger through her hair. He sighed tiredly. This was not his day.

Snake reached the top looking around with a surprised expression. He was apparently feeling very uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "You have a meeting with the colonel."

Alex knew he had no choice, so just nodded the man, already starting to climb back down. The tension in him lessened a bit, but the appearance of his unit mate didn't help a lot. At the bottom of the waterfall Wolf was waiting for them. Alex grinned grimly. Of course, he would not climb up all the way. He waited until Rose got down and they headed back to the camp without the men they were supposed to be together as a team.

He even knocked when they reached the colonel's door. What an improvement.

The man explained them how disappointed he was, then followed with the need of discipline at a military camp, and so on… Alex just tuned him out. Apparently, the man realized he was speaking in vain as he suddenly stopped waiting for him to answer or reply, but his eyes were empty, somehow managing to _glare_ at him bored. He sighed. His face suddenly turned very exhausted.

They were dismissed to get to their driving lesson in time – despite the man's ineffective threat he would not permit their lecture as a punishment. Alex felt a sort of pity towards the man though: it was not his fault – he just wanted to be free and live his own life. Usually, he would do whatever he wanted and now, even MI6 handled him more as a grown-up after their child-obsession. And this was all that he wanted.

No matter what they thought of him – of course, his behaviour just ascertained them in their suspicion he was a spoiled brat whose father had wanted to get rid of him – he was fine being alone, and would do fine, would they leave him alone. He was the only target as everybody decided to just ignore his wife – women _did _not come here.

She was nobody, not a woman, only a shadow disturbing them. Not really comfortable, maybe, but she was way too strong and experienced to whine about it, she just accepted it as always, everything. Maybe found it even better. He sighed. If only there hadn't been anybody bothering them.

Another, unfamiliar soldier changed the half K Unit and led them out from the camp, only the other direction they had walked half an hour ago. They walked up the hill, then descended to see the large concrete square of the landing strip of several helicopters and the parking lot of the countless jeeps, city cars, quads, motorcycles – all sorts of vehicles they could supposedly get in action.

Alex's mood was emphatically improved. Although they couldn't practise with water vehicles this was good for a first. For obvious reasons, they had not been able to practise driving on the streets of Israel, so this was a very good occasion to learn. He was also eager to combine things and try how firing back from a manoeuvring car's window was.

The teacher of theirs was not a soldier, and, from the glances the others stared at him, he was nothing connected to SAS. He stood on his place calmly not bothering with anybody else.

"Ah, here you come. I was starting to get a bit worried." His voice was the same they used, and so Alex immediately knew where he was from. MI6. He nodded reservedly but Rose flashed a rosy smile at him. He cleared his throat. "My name's Nathaniel Davies, but you can call me Nat." He examined him and flinched just a little bit. Alex didn't let it slip, frowned on him.

The man sadly smiled back at him. "I knew your father, I worked with him once then when I get the current position I met him every time. You are his ghost." He admitted.

"Ah." He nodded again, his face closing. The black man clapped his hands.

"We could start this, as well. How can I call you, by the way?" He asked already turning towards the practise place.

"We're Ama and Cub here." Rose answered casually. The man waved towards one of the helicopters, a smile spreading on his face.

"I heard your first day here hadn't been exactly interesting so I thought I might as well teach you something new as well. Have you ever driven a helicopter?" He shook his head while Rose frowned. "What?" He asked.

"It was… not actually _driving_, more like... well…" She didn't finish her sentence, but the man understood her and gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Ooookay. Then… You need to know the general things about the driving and we can just hope you won't need it-"

"A-a." Rose cut him off. "We need to have enough skills to get a license. I mean… helicopter-driving license, if something like that exists." The look on his face was a bit weird, but he nodded.

"This complicates some things, but right. A license, you say?" He was muttering on his way to the helicopter. He quickly checked everything, unstoppably speaking and explaining in the process, making sure they got the main things about the safety's issue, then taking a step forward – they were not likely to be able to do safety checks for too long during an operation. The SAS didn't come close enough to be able to overhear them, still they kept their voices low.

Alex felt himself back to life now. This was what he would do, his job. Nathaniel treated them like adults, much like the way Scorpia did – obviously, MI6 had learnt from its mistakes and Grant took care of them keeping his promise. They sat inside the machine absorbing the instructions about the different buttons, handles, displays, switches, which covered the instrument panel glinting in different colours, having interesting shapes to make sure the pilot was able to distinguish the right things, but using all the space available. Davies spoke for more than two hours constantly not caring if they actually remembered anything of it, rather bubbling about the issue with well built logic and order.

He talked about driving a helicopter as he was ordered to, giving them all the details in a speeded up way – his pupils were said to be smart and quick on the uptake. He did this however following his orders, the couple could discover the well hidden signs of his disbelief: he didn't think they should do this, he didn't honestly believe his orders, all the things he was told. But he did what he was supposed to not questioning his bosses or his orders. Another difference between spies and SAS.

He came to an abrupt halt. Alex was organizing his newly received knowledge, making sure all the little folders in his mind he had been making during the lesson were in order, then he jumped from one to other conclusion and connection to see if everything made sense and every case was where it was supposed to be. He had learnt this from Rose, and although when she had talked about it the first time, it simply sounded ridiculous, soon, he had had to admit, this "organizing tool" was useful and helped him a lot.

"Right." The developer of the method nodded; she was visibly ready with her check-up. "But what if the height is increasing and the balance on… for example the right side? This and this will be red," She waved towards the instrument panel. "this will have the increasing numbers, this will show the second 'danger sign', and… yeah. That's all, right?"

"Er, right." He closed his face quickly, but Alex was able to see the deep astonishment in his eyes appearing for a moment. He felt a wave of smugness. His wife was quite a quick learner.

Nathaniel was astounded, but he had been told they had been unusual teenagers. _If_ he had been told they had been teenagers. He processed the fact quickly, moving on to more special cases, making sure they were using the freshly absorbed knowledge and by the repeating and rementioning of the key words, everything stuck in their minds. He was a good teacher and they were good pupils.

To the time Alex and Rose got back to the hut they had a basic knowledge about the working of a helicopter in general. It was not that hard considering they were experienced in other types of 'driving'. When they returned however, they had to face with reality: it had been only some hours ago he had refused a Sergeant's order, and although the official stick-giving was already behind their back, the soldiers stared at him (and so her as well) strangely.

Eagle stepped to him apparently not being able to bit his tongue any longer.

"Could you _please_ tell us why you aren't able to do some UFF?"

**To be continued…

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I hadn't really been fascinated by the amount of reviews I had got, but anyway, this hadn't been the point.

I haven't been having any time the past few days fearing I would fail at the first turn of a Chemistry competition as I haven't learnt anything for nearly half a year now since past year's competition ended (where I failed quite miserably... anyway, it was miserable for me).

Yeah. My personal problem, but I thought you might deserve an explanation for my 'long' absence.

**Yep**. I don't know _anything_ about helicopters, so don't blame me.


	9. 8: Merely more than a child

Thank you for everybody who reviewed (all the two people). You are sooo lovely. :D For everybody else: they didn't die in the process, you can risk writing some words.

Answering the questions: although the story is very slow and sneaking at snail-pace, everything will happen and every little step will be written carefully...:D I know you long for some action though and I hope you can wait till the next chapter... It will have much more events in it, I promise. Ohh, and btw... you know I'm not Anthony Horowitz, right?

Er, I officially disclaim every right... Yep.

I tried, I truly tried to put a hand on Crocodile Tears, but I must admit I live in a country in which the book isn't brought in (I mean.. in on the borders... no copy is available) and in which an official translation takes over half a year. Otherwise, the English version is insanely expensive to just buy it on Internet. Yeah. I'm stuck, and I suck. Whichever is actually right.

**Warning: SASCH**

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**Chapter 8**** – Merely more than a child**

"You are going to die... slowly, _very_ slowly… we will hollow… painful unfortunately, but … to know we… being serious… always _are_… stupid to come… still I doubt you… realized… your decision… big mistake you have... after your… lost your vision, I… if you talk… not… from the overture and… some serious… if you ask… take the deal… you won't… good… remaining…" There was a loud crack audible – another man entered the room.

"Master... we can't… woman, she's… the trails… find the…"

"… on the … this one… taken to the airport… after… could get the… anybody asks… the Spanish man… the boot with the explosives… make sure you-"

Alex sighed irritated. The man who had just pushed him aside "randomly" – brunette young man with a weird little beard – stepped in front of him in the row, looking back with a mocking glint in his eyes clearly trying to attract his aggression on him so that the he would have a reason to beat the disturbing youth up. Alex grinned back at him – use the most unexpected reaction to get them off guard, Ian Rider would have told –, secretly gritting his teeth.

The interaction had got him out of the balance and now he fully lost the train of thought as the Russian jabber continued in his headphones hidden behind his too-long hair. He didn't waste his time for a curse, hurriedly tried to get back to the half-numb state he had been in, reacting instinctively and absentmindedly on the surroundings, his world narrowing to the caught words concentrating only on the quiet whispering in his ears.

The record was willingly very bad of a quality, the people talking on it speaking in the worst manner he had ever heard. The device broke and reconnected, then crackled a bit and the line broke again… Alex could tell the major issue, though he knew he was not going to remember everything perfectly to the time it would be asked from him – not without the rush of adrenaline, the knowledge in his cells he was in danger, the always the same feeling no matter how many times he experienced it - which had rather turned from the 'I'm in danger' meaning to an 'I'm on a mission' sort recently.

He took his tray at last, murmuring something as thanks and sat down to their dining table. He prayed Eagle would be smarter than ask his stupid question again, now, when it would be the worst timing, but he knew the neutral answer he had given him yesterday wasn't even close satisfying him.

He thought of his face if he had given in on the unarmed form fight lesson(i) which would have meant to take his T-shirt off and fight with bare chest as the soldiers did. The last bullets the Scorpia assassin had intended to kill him with only the day before yesterday, didn't do any serious harm through the bullet-proof vest, only a few blue and purple – lately turning trendy greenish, yellowish and brownish – bruises, covering his abdomen full length. The bullet scar, from the _first_ attempt remained in all its late glory, though the several cuts, burns, scars and bruises made up a very close contest.

The unarmed form fight, or as they called, the UFF, was a very natural part of a SAS soldier's life at the camp. After the full training, this was the one keeping them in shape and they could get better in defending themselves without the weapons with which they were all too familiar. It was a mix of material arts mainly containing the most useful elements from karate to wrestling.

He found himself numbly eating his meal, but he wasn't able to recall how he had got to the table, neither sitting down. The Russian speech continued and he felt his head would explode. It was dangerous, paying so little conscious attention to reality while on an enemy territory (he couldn't risk relieving his secrets to the soldiers). This was the moment when Eagle felt the time had come for an investigation.

"So. What's wrong with UFF? It sure as hell is boring, but you did do much harder things last time and now you pissed the Sergeant so off he would give you a life time punishment now."

"It's not his function to give me punishment." He answered bluntly, trying to keep up with the strain of the muffled conversation trailing in his head, knowing at the same time he had to sacrifice the outcome of the exercise for the sake of his security. The brunette man frowned, exchanging uncomprehending glances with his mates.

"Then who is the one giving you punishment – or orders if we are here."

"He doesn't get orders, Eagle, he's merely more than a child." Snake argued. Alex pondered about how old he may seem in their eyes, but didn't ask – they would ask back for his age and he didn't like lying without a good reason.

"But sure, he gets some sort of guidance as what he should do, doesn't he?" The boy in question considered his briefing on the past missions. Yes, _of_ _course_ _he had been told_ what he should do. Alex felt a bit uncomfortable as they all fixed their gazes on him; he had to keep himself from shifting. His mind wandered around to make up something believable.

"From somebody the person who sent me here had signed to do it." He answered cautiously. It wasn't a lie; he had signed Grant to be his boss and give him orders, in a distorted way. The men looked at each other at his cryptic answer and as he would have been able to foretell it, Eagle didn't let the issue be dropped.

"And who is the person who sent you here?"

Ok, it was time to change tactics.

"It's not your business." He added a bit of coldness to his tone, the sharp edge recognisable enough to push back any further investigation – too bad Eagle was a full trained SAS soldier.

"But-" He was interrupted by Wolf.

"He said it was not your business."

"But-" Wolf's face made him fall silent. Giving them a last glare, the man turned away, practising his evil killing look on his dish after this. K Unit stared at him with open mouths in unison, astounded at his behaviour. Alex silently fixated his own gaze on a far point at another wall of the dining barrack. He could understand why Wolf had done what he had done, but it didn't make the sudden feeling overwhelming him better.

The soldiers tried to figure something out of the change in their former relationship, but the two kept their secrets far from their faces. Wolf was trying to defend his unit, this was clear. The meal tasted ash in his mouth as he thought of the reason; he didn't even know anything for sure. He may have had guesses, but Wolf didn't know anything about his missions or how he had killed people before.

It had hurt him more than he had thought it to be possible. The simple fact that a bare guess could give so much of mistrust and… and something else he could put into words. It slipped his finger every time he tried to catch it, but at the same time it hurt him. Weird. He suddenly felt himself excluded from the civil world, from normality, very-very alone. Not only because of his age the line of his work, it had made him grow up – very soon but he had grown up - and become more mature than he had thought he would ever be.

It might have been loneliness – the way the realization bolted through him in a sudden: even soldiers chose it better to stay away from him. He was not going to have friends or anybody close to him. He was going to live his life alone. It had been a mercy of God he had found Rosalie. Her sight calmed him down and comforted him, just like every other time he had felt abnormal, a lonely watcher from the other side of a window.

He recalled her image, the same images keeping him alive in a month of inhuman torture and captivate. The sight he would have woken up every morning: her rosy hair covering the pillow and his bare chest. Her eyes as she told him she _trusted_ him – the spy variation of 'I love you more than anything else on earth'. The warm sense as her body cuddled up to his under the quilt, her head resting in the crook of his neck. Rosalie was a gift of the gods.

They headed out of the building towards another in which they had had their lesson offering a bit of variety with a main theme of defusing bombs. It was something they rather neglected in Israel, only learning the most basic methods. This day appeared to pass faster and more useful than yesterday as their next sit was 'new' as well: computer and hacking skills. They hadn't needed it much in the past, but it could come handy someday.

He allowed her to go ahead at the door and her hip 'accidentally' crushed against his body, her hand brushing him. He felt goose bumps rising on his arm and he had to swallow hard. Otherwise the lesson itself was interesting. 'Would have been more interesting, had he been able to actually concentrate. He was so going to punish her for this.

He engraved the function of the different wires on his memory, as well as the effect of the explosives (making a mental note to ask his MI6 provided teacher to tell some about preparing some house-made ones), the radius, the destruction, the noise the explosion caused, the time they needed, the structure most ideal.

Their teacher was a skinny, always nervous-looking little man, with large eyes and a large bald spot on the top of his head. He spoke quickly and the men leant forward not to miss a word he said in his pitchy voice. If his mind hadn't been wandering on _other_ things, he would have even enjoyed the lesson.

In the second part they could try and defuse a bomb themselves and watch the once really dangerous ones which had been made to kill real people. The devices looked menacingly, even in their "deaths", and Alex honestly hoped he would not run into such cute thing for a very long time.

He could have guessed he was not going to be able to fully enjoy his day although he would really have liked learning something new about electronics. Of course, Mi6 had sensed the momentary lack of 'torture' and organized them the appointments to this time. He couldn't blame them: he was the one discovering the dark gaps in his file which was brought by Mrs. Jones yesterday.

Mossad hadn't transferred their files to the British, so their time in Israel was nearly entirely unknown, therefore Alex phoned the agency. Grant was apparently keeping his promise as for his surprise Alex was informed by the secretary to wait a bit, and then the next moment he found himself talking to deputy head himself. Alex hadn't been sure why he had called in the first place, but the man had been grateful and polite promising to take care of the problem and thanking him.

A soldier showed them their way to the office where usually the officers and the few civilians worked. The emotionless Mrs. Jones was waiting for them in a room he supposed to be the Colonel's otherwise. A young looking brunette woman was standing there besides her; she leant against the wall like a statue. She was apparently "special operator" as well, her expressions holding the same empty mask that had slipped on his face the moment he entered the room.

Hers was forced though and Alex could see from the way she was standing she wasn't too experienced, her body stiff and uncomfortable in contrary the way a proof would have – the way the arriving couple had – easily, with light limbs, gracefully and calmly moving and examining the surround. The Colonel was half sitting on the side of his desk, visibly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Tulip." He flashed a smile at the woman and her sour face reflected back some warmth. He pondered, not the first time, how she had lost her kids.

"Cub, Ama." So she didn't trust the Colonel enough to tell him their true names. Interesting. "Ms. Lynn will register everything you say and update your files." She didn't offer them seats – they would have done that already, had they wanted to. At MI6, business was the first in the row. "You will get a copy of it, of course."

"Right." Rose replied lightly.

"I guess we can start it immediately then. Ms. Lynn?" The brunette younger nodded and Alex observed her hand was slightly trembling. She wasn't going to serve MI6 very long.

"Aye." She swallowed while the Colonel left. As soon as the door closed behind his back she opened her notebook. The room was silent for some minutes until the woman finally found what she had been searching for. After she finished, she looked up. "Name?"

**To be continued…**

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Please, tell me I did manage to fool some of you with that talk at the beginning...:P


	10. 9: Only a shiver down the spine

So. I don't know when and if I will update. Exactly as I have known, school is now getting... difficult. (Most hopefully) I have my timetable full until the middle of May, having different objects to work on besides writing fanfiction for lazy readers who don't even think about reviewing (OK, to be correct, 0,53% of my readers _did _review).

This doesn't mean I will not update until then just that things will slow down (as you may have noticed). Also, my wonderful beta is working on getting something sane out of my "plot-jumps" and inconsequences.

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**Warning: **_still _**SASCH**

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**Chapter 9**** - Only a shiver down the spine  
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He should have suspected it. Sense the danger from the air. The way the wind turned, the inaudible crack as their feet connected the ground, bringing the killers closer and closer to him. Yet before the critical time, when the world stopped for a moment, everything frozen, as Death lingered there, caressing his face with its skeleton fingers.

But he hadn't sensed it.

The meeting had been difficult. Not only the way the facts sounded and line followed line, from outside, neglecting all the emotions, reducing one of the best periods of his life to a collection of bare, official, cold words, pretending nothing had happened in those months, nothing valuable to note besides the facts, the facts stood accurately one by one, yielding the same assumptions he had done long ago, mocking with him, saying his decision – the decision he had made with sweat, signing it with the blood of his heart – was nothing but necessary. And that look in Mrs. Jones' eyes, telling him he was lucky that the bank had agreed his decision and let him work with his wife – which was completely out of all the rules a secret agency could have, going against all kind of common sense.

No, this was only one thing.

Alex hated every time when he had to recall the events that happened and the newest various methods the newest various enemies wished to adopt for his slaughter. He was sick of all that. To sit in a chair, calmly, and speak about how he had been nearly murdered, how the world had been nearly destroyed.

It was a necessary part.

But he hated that part.

Especially, since he had been having Rose. The woman – girl – understood him, more than anybody else on earth was able to.

When he said her that he had been shot at, she _knew_ it. She didn't start to fume about how unjustified this was, nor did she say some blank, empty words about how sorry she was, or just pretend, believe that she understood it. Nobody could understand this until it was their own skin.

And Rose knew. When he said it to her, he didn't need explanations. She knew the way your heart slowed down in that second of realization, then jumped and started thudding in your ears until it may have been silenced by an inhuman power forever. She knew how the icy sweat ran down your spine, your limbs all useless and uncertain, until the adrenaline found them. She knew the black and red circles changing in your vision, the bitterness in your mouth, the taste of your own blood, rust and death, the sudden urge to run and flee.

And since he had been having her and the chance to speak to somebody who understood him completely, whom he was able to tell and explain, getting free of all the weights on his soul, he hadn't needed anybody else.

Before he had found her, it helped a bit. Telling it a bank manager, usually somebody grey from the Royal and General's world. It had eased on the tenseness of his mind a little.

But now, it simply annoyed and exhausted him.

And he left the building with his mind wandering, ignoring the world outside for a moment.

And, of course, danger always found the gaps, the momentary lack of concentration to attack.

The SAS soldiers around him avoided him and if they did have to pass by him, they looked away. It was just common sense and instinct: they felt they might confront him and hurried to pretend they didn't see him at all, not to say Rose's presence. Their ignorance was returned by the spies.

And so, when they reached the narrow way through between the officers' barrack and the military hospital, nobody saw when the couple was silenced.

It was pure bad luck. There shouldn't have been such gap; at SAS dark deep places, narrow ways were not preferred.

However, the base was almost a hundred years old. There had been standing a military hospital on the hill which had a view at the valley. The other barracks and buildings had been built inside the late river-bend when the SAS moved in and occupied the area and the surrounding forests, but the centre, the brain of the base, the officers' barrack, needed to be built upon the hill, with the most perfect view upon the other institutions, while the hospital was renovated and re-occupied as well.

Twenty years later, an engineer came, with the task of planning a new wing to the hospital where the soldiers could be taught about a new threat: the various collection of poisons. Another five years later, the new safety precautions required an outside corridor at the sides of the offices. And, as the river-bend was too unsteady to be the ground of the expansions, the two buildings rather cramped on the top of the hill, only letting a narrow, dark pace. It was used rarely, the soldiers chose the other, longer way.

But the spies didn't.

She wanted to scream when a violent palm was pressed on her mouth and nose, but the man behind her was stronger. The attacker had the advantage of surprise and strength and with a bit of luck these were enough to silence her successfully. It was a classical bear-hug, then the man let his hand fall soon when she managed to regain her control after the first moment of panic. She gasped for air loudly, but before a screech could build up in her throat, the hand returned, forcing an uncomfortable pose on her, her legs kicked out under her, her back falling hard against the killer's chest, the pressure becoming firm on her throat.

It was frightening, but she tried to rule the panic. Adrenaline rushed in her veins, her pulse beating hard in her ears. She was fighting for her life, she understood suddenly. She forced back the coming panic and the urge to loose her control and react fully on instinct.

She apparently lost the moment when the man threw themselves onto the ground, but now his weight concentrated on her torso and legs with a deathful pressure, her helplessly opened mouth full with soil. It was crazy how many details stuck in her memory: she felt the wetness, the taste in her mouth turning sour, her blood, as she bit her tongue. The world was starting to fade away in a show of flashing circles and dots like bad tries to confuse the visitor on the ghost train. Only this wasn't to entertain her.

She desperately tried to get free from her embracer, but the man's dead weight pushed her deep into the Welsh mud. She used all her strength and after some desperate tries she managed to turn back a bit from the ground towards the man. Her knee hit hard his groins despite the small place to take a momentum. He moaned and half-loudly yelled, but didn't let her go.

Oxygen was the nicest word for her for now, but the pressure eased only a little on her throat. She collected strength for another kneeing, her hands still held down by the soon-to-be-killer.

It was so surprising she didn't believe she was free at first. She already placed a hit into his stomach when she realized she could breathe again. The air whirled panting in her lungs; she had to lean against the wall feeling she would faint. Nausea came and she had to press her own hand on her mouth to stop herself.

She forced herself to look around as an ominous feeling found her: where was Alex? Her thoughts were beginning to clear down a bit like the troubled mud in a lake. Her lover was still fighting, three attackers hanging on him. He was in no better condition than she had been seconds ago. The men must have considered the woman weaker than the man – and Rose was terrified how close and right they had been.

She stepped across the newly waking body, making sure her heavy military boots touched the wished point of his body. She could see her husband's current situation was everything but not satisfying and she quickly used her own bit of surprise knocking one of the men out from the back.

One other immediately flung himself on her, but this time she was prepared enough and waited for the attack. A minute later, when Alex started to regain his control upon the events, she switched from defensive to a bit of offence while her mate occupied the other man. One other decided to return into the game getting bored of playing the Sleeping Beauty all the time. Rose's first man, the embracer was also conscious, now exchanging the woman's body for his own, embracing himself with an expression which could satisfyingly represent the size of his sufferies.

"Back towards the square!" Alex's voice was just as hoarse she felt her own, so she only nodded at his yell. The square with many soldiers and enough free space to maneuver around.

To the time they managed to reach their target, she knew she would not like dark alleys for a very long time. It felt like being born again as they left the blackness, the air thick and wet from their wheezing breaths.

And, finally, they got out.

The helping force a.k.a. the soldiers weren't much of a help though. We would lie saying they helped anything, although not denying that if the attackers would have glanced at them, they would have surely been surprised and maybe impressed at the never-imagined sizes of human eyes and mouths. We don't deny the psychological force of this at all, but we must admit that the super-weapon didn't help our heroes a lot to eliminate the enemy. However, we must remark, that the attackers didn't ever glance at them, so the psychological effect stayed in shadows in the future too, needing further tests.

The teenage spies needed to do all on their own. The previously knocked out man was in a very good condition for now and apparently ready to take revenge for the momentary trip in unconsciousness. The two still were with their backs towards the narrow walk through. One of the black-dressed men conjured up a handgun, obviously getting bored of the hand fight. The first bullet went deep into the egg-shell-coloured hospital wall decorating it in a very military-designed way.

The man didn't have any more time to continue improving the unsophisticated pale colouring, Alex jumped at him, the barrel forced towards the cloud-covered sky. While they got their relationship deepen by pushing their bodies against each other, Rose had to found herself facing two grim-faced attackers. What a luck she was trained to survive.

She kept up the defence until Alex would decide he knew thoroughly enough the other man. She could see this wasn't going to happen in the near future so sighed and aimed some kicks and hits at some more sensitive points of her own opponents. Both men were leaning down as if bowing in front of her fighting experience and skills, their hands grabbing their painfully throbbing crown jewels when the coldness touched the back of her neck.

The woman froze in one place, her heart accelerating from the already quick path. She felt each thud hitting painfully her ribs as if wanting to get free from a cage. Alex got free from his new friend and turned back towards her, but it was too late. The man standing behind her waved him and pulled her closer to his body, pushing his arm at her throat _again_.

He must have been the leader finding he was strong enough to take down a woman while his men were bothering with the stronger target. His breaths breezed the hairs on her neck as she felt every air-take of the attacker. A cold shiver ran down her spine, the icy droplets of sweat burning its way through her skin.

**To be continued…

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**PS:** Merry Christmas for those who like it

**PPS: **Sorry for the chapter title, I will think of a better later...


	11. 10: Demon

Right.

Thanks for the single review I got. I was really glad to get it. This update is dedicated to you (and everybody else: feel ashamed).  


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I started writing the new chapter already. As nearly nobody is interested enough to write me at least a few words... I've grown a bit annoyed. And offended. So I'll go on a holiday. Next update: in a year the soonest.

PS I'm perfectly aware of my currently childish manner I handle this with. But I feel truly bad about your ignorance.

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**Chapter 10**** – Demon**

"Get off him or I kill her." The man's voice was emotionlessly cold and calm. The icy barrel moved from the back of her head to its side but the menace just increased. Her head was pulled back and she was forced to lean it on his soon-to-be-killer's shoulders. A freed lock fell in her face, its jolly pink colour mocking death and danger.

Alex slowly moved further, his hands falling down from his prey. The man collapsed to the ground, already slipped in unconsciousness. Alex fixed his eyes on his wife, their gazes burning as the silent thoughts were exchanged. He slowly took a step closer to the leader. Her eyes closed as the man's pull tightened on her neck. The barrel was pushed painfully into her skin.

"You are the same one." Alex stated in an even voice. Rose knew this side of her husband and hated when it came to surface. It was the personality of an assassin. It was needed. Needed to survive, to save the world, to fulfil the mission. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

"The same one that tried to kill me in London." He must have taken another step; she felt the effect in the tenseness of her capturer. "Unsuccessfully, may I mention."

"Stay where you are or I kill her." He took a deep breathe; she felt it on her back. "And you don't want this, do you?"

"Nobody wants people's deaths save for… assassins, for example."

"Would it be a gossip then?" Rose sensed as he shook his head maliciously. A joyless chuckle escaped her captor's lips. "I don't think so."

"Gossips? Are gossips that you base your strategy on? Gossips?" This wasn't going to be anything good, she thought, but Alex's voice was calm, almost soothing despite the meaning of his words.

"You might be lethal. You can call yourself whatever you want to, I don't care. Even though you are named Demon, you aren't one. You are not immortal."

"The only question is which of us would die first." He nodded a little. "Release her."

The attacker's replying laugh was violent but forced. "I think you misjudged the situation. _I_ am the one giving orders here, not you!"

"Release her and you may live." The quietly even, emotionless voice made her shudder. There was a frightening edge in it; the edge of a man protecting his family and being ready to kill whoever gets in his way.

The man swallowed. Alex didn't miss the sound and sourly smiled at him. "You know I'm right. If you kill her, I will search for you in the rest of my life." She hated when it came to this – still knowing that it was true. He would kill him, go after him, haunt him until he died. Alex considered Rose the sense of his life and would kill for her without a second thought. And she knew it might be true. Maybe, it had been her that saved him from the craziness each spy experienced at some point.

The cold determination, the hole in their soul, the lack of sense – living for nothing, for saving unknown people from death, but unable to save themselves. The same, soldiers serving in a heavily attacked and ruined country experienced. And there were not many ways out. Getting retired before it hits. Getting crazy, dreaming with dead, soul wandering on ruined, destroyed land forever. Kissing one's own gun, the bullet going straight in the brain.

Or, sometimes, falling in love.

His whisper was emotionless and quiet yet completely comprehensive. "I will not rest until I can have your head ripped off. You will have to run in the rest of your lifetime. Either that or turn back and fight me. The question is…" his soft voice was almost kind at this, raising goose bumps on her arm, "Are you sure enough that you can kill me to risk pulling the trigger?"

Her blood was frozen in her veins as the man hugged her closer to his body. She pushed back a desperate screech into her throat. Alex knew what he was doing. He must have known what he was doing.

"You know who I am and what I am capable of. Now decide." She felt the barrel tremble at the side of her temple for a second. She shakily took a breath. The next thing she felt was a strong thrust to her back and she found herself falling towards Alex. He embraced her tightly, the tenseness and fear radiating from his body.

Two men stepped to the man. Rose looked back into the eyes of her almost-killer. He was dazed, like a snake by the charmer. She took large gulps of fresh air. It had been close. And it was ended now. _Move on,_ she ordered herself. _Move on and forget it._

Mrs Jones motioned them to follow her into the office. She wasted a last glance for their team-mates, their eyes wide open, their gazes disbelieving. She understood them. It was pure luck the attacker had heard about them – and mainly Israeli gossips about the "shadows". Alex had got the nickname "Demon" at Mossad, after a littler mission – their victim yelled he could not possibly exist and to stay away of him because he was a Demon of the worst sort. Other agents often joked about that and the name stuck on him.

And sometimes, when he fell into his assassin-mode, the nickname was truly right.

Inside the building, the colonel was gasping for air and kept repeating he didn't know how such an incident could happen. The deputy head waved him to shut up and nearly closed the door onto his nose. The soldier didn't let himself be ignored and reopened the door.

In the office-room, she turned back to the couple.

"I'm very sorry for this… incident. The security system obviously isn't enough."

His voice was still the same emotionless assassin-toned he had used. "They must have followed you… This would explain the plain number and the need of surprise. I don't think they knew we were here, they just stumbled upon us. Otherwise the attack would have been more planned – and most likely lethal."

She shook her head helplessly. "You need to move from here."

"You have known you will be attacked?!" The colonel's voice trembled with anger. He didn't bother with the strange looks he got, he was not going to sit in silence while bloody spies talked above his head.

"It was quite obvious." Alex's tone was mocking, but his expression indicated he was wondering about the next step.

"Then why aren't you at a safe house? You endangered my men's lives by walking in here!"

"Your men are soldiers and if their lives are seriously endangered by the attack against us… Well, the army seems more and more pathetic by the time." He mumbled himself barely audibly. Mrs Jones opened her mouth but Rose preceded her.

"We are not going to hide in a so-called safe place waiting for them to find us. We have known the price when we started this and we won't step back now that the danger showed up. We have known it was going to have some kind of revenge and continued doing it. We are not going to hide."

"Heroes die early."

"We are not heroes only people knowing their methods. They won't stop whatever we do. The only way to stop them is by execution the organization itself." Rose nodded herself. "This attack hasn't been planned. It's completely random they found us. Leonore is getting more and more nervous by the time. This action showed her distress – Paige cannot compensate her lust for our blood. It's her that is taking the lead – into death. A bit more time and we will be able to catch them."

"Who the hell is this Leonore?" The colonel's eye twitched.

Mrs Jones answered while the two communicated between each other soundlessly with their eyes. "Have you ever heard of Scorpia? It's a terrorist organization concerning sabotage, corruption, intelligence and assassination, these are what the letters stand for, on six continents. It was founded decades ago, in Paris by retired assassins. One of these founder members was Levi Kroll." Mrs Jones explained the colonel quickly.

"Was?" The colonel asked. Alex looked away.

"_Was_." Mrs Jones cleared her throat. "Leonore, his former lover, and Samuel Paige, his right hand are the ones who… inherited his business after his… death." She looked at the couple.

Alex shook his head. "We are going to wait _here_ until the next occasion comes. Do your job and we will do ours." His tone ended the conversation with its determination.

Mrs Jones sighed. She had known at the beginning it had been a wasted try but she had had to do it. She fought herself for long moments. The order had been clear enough, but she was sick of all that. They had already tried the "higher power" strategy and it hadn't turned out good. Keeping their information would not help them and they would lose even that little trust in SO they had. And this information was not going to avoid them, the couple was going to find it out, sooner or later. She decided.

"There might be another reason for the haste they work with… Yassen Gregorovich…" His face darkened even more if that was possible. "Last week a last will surfaced from the Russian mafia. It names you as his rightful heir."

"Impossible." The word was forced out through his teeth, a hiss escaping his throat. Rose placed her palm casually onto his shoulder but Mrs Jones could know she was holding him back in case he would jump up. The touch seemed to sooth his nerves a bit and she continued.

"The document originally applies to your father but with his death… I will not go into the boring and incomprehensible details, the summary is that all the money he collected, all his possessions now fall upon the person who inherited John's. And _this_ person is _you_."

"No." He used all his mental strength to relax his fingers from the hard fist. His nails had scratched his skin and now thin blood-brooks were flowing from the little half-circles. She took his hand and intertwined her fingers with his.

Mrs Jones kept speaking, but he hadn't heard a word. A face appeared in his memory, the face of a murderer. A man who killed for money but never hurt children. A man who died in his arms, in order to save him. Alex had sworn to kill him for the murder of his uncle, but after getting to know the bigger image, the case was not that simple.

He was friends with John Rider, or Hunter as he had known him. Assassins would never let their emotions affect them, but he let Alex live, more than that, saved his life several times, for the sake of a long-dead friendship. Because his father had saved his life during an assassination.

Cossack, the blond Russian man, who shot a man for letting a chest fall, who worked only for the money. Who investigated, killed, destroyed. Just like him, Alex did. The only difference was the reason behind the acts. Money here and… why was he doing it? Because he was forced? Because it ran in his veins with his blood? Did motivation matter that much?

He saved his life.

He killed people. He even killed Ian… His head was spinning around and he didn't _know_ the answer. Only _guessed_. He would never know what the situation was when Yassen pulled the trigger and ended the life of the man Alex was grown up by. His uncle could have had an equal share in the act, giving a reason to be killed. Alex knew that. Spying was not about playing with the rules of fair play. If you misjudged the situation, you were killed in the very second.

He saved his life.

He killed people.

And now everything he had killed for, everything he had gained with assassination, everything was Alex's possession. By the law.

He felt like he was getting crazy. He sighed and decided to ask something he was able to understand and see through.

"What do you know about Leonore and Paige anyway?"

"They are somewhere in the country." Alex raised an eyebrow. "We don't know yet what they are doing here… Paige had some connections with the English mafia when he was younger. Their business in Israel was pretty much blown up. We're still clearing up the situation y-" She shot a quick glance at the colonel sitting next to her, "the death of Kroll left us with. We will tell you everything we get to know."

Examining their expressions she sighed. "I promise."

**To be continued… **(someday, when I'll be a grandma telling fairy tales)


	12. 11: Ball

Fine. I update now, although I planned it for tomorrow (but of course strictly only because you lot reviewed and eased on my soul).

Thanks for everybody who have given me the gift of his/her opinion, and sorry for not answering everybody until now, I decided you would be happier to read the update than the reply. Special thanks for AR-bookworm, whose review was the longest I have ever read. It kinda made me feel guilty about letting you get crazy (it makes two of us then...). And don't forget about my wonderful beta, Valar Morghulis, who's working so hard despite the fact it's holiday for him. He's being lost somewhere trying to correct my bubbling. Feel pity and respect for him.

Anyway, I'm not quite sure about this chapter, so tell me what you think about it. I didn't feel like writing another camp scene, I don't know why. Oh yeah, I'm sorry about the locality, I seem to be obsessed with palaces and castles (...) and as well apologies for the mess with the doors. I don't really know why I was so interested in their future... *frowning*

**Chapter 11**** - Ball**

_Five days later_

The night was cold. The wind caressed the leaves of the old oaks in the park embracing the building with a quiet whispering. In the house – more of a castle, Wolf thought – a party was kept. The host was a certain Samuel Paige. He must have had enough money to pay the glow: waiters whirled around in suits even at the back entrance the soldiers kept under surveillance.

The windows had heavy velvet curtains in front of them, but the light glimmered through from the celebration. The whole weekend-house looked like a Victorian styled castle – not the one Wolf would prefer. The cars of the guests stood on the roadway, the – elegantly black and white, penguin-designed – chauffeurs and guards made sure none of the luxurious vehicles got a scratch on the – hearse-evocating – black polish.

Wolf took down the infrared binoculars. Everything was ordinary, the same that had been for hours. He didn't know what was supposed to happen on the posh party, but it looked like the heads misjudged the situation. If only he had known why he had been lying here for hours!

They had been briefed to keep the house under surveillance and wait until "the situation shows up". They were only the backup, so they said. They had been waiting for hours now, since the first guests arrived. Nothing looked suspicious. _Maybe this is some sort of test,_ he thought. Still, he couldn't understand why they were sent here. Why here and why they. S Unit came for the mission as well and this was even weirder considering they had been told they didn't get another mission till finishing the refreshing training, as well as K Unit.

Something was very wrong here and as always, MI6 was the one arranging the assignment. Just like their past bad luck with the two training with them: one was barely more than a kid, the other _female_. They had arrived suddenly – they had gone suddenly. It had happened yesterday evening: when his unit had gone back to their hut after dinner, their stuff had already disappeared. Just like the other time. Wolf didn't mind, it even eased a bit on his soul. He felt sorry for the young boy and although he would have never admitted it, he was afraid of him.

Especially after that little scene in front of the offices.

Most men just laughed on it, but he knew a bit about Cub to guess the unbelievable things the attacker said about him may be true. He didn't dare to consider the possibility though: that man was an assassin and if he feared Cub, if he was afraid enough to release the girl and go to prison or worse after just mentioning the possibility of Cub hunting him down… He had been right keeping his unit away of him.

He wondered once more where they could disappear… then just shrugged mentally. It was not his business.

He lifted his binoculars again. A voice cut into the silence and had he not been SAS, he would have jumped. Stupid headphones. He listened carefully. Shot heard from the western tower. The SAS jumped. Otherwise they wouldn't have been so easy to activate but their mystical orders were unnerving.

Wolf looked around. Black shapes lifted from the ground, moving with threatening professionalism. _This is it,_ he thought. _This is why I'm at SAS. _The men moved quietly and quickly, each knowing his own task. All planned, all going smoothly. They looked like shadows appearing from hell and Wolf could feel the effect of the drug he was addicted: adrenaline rushed in his veins, his vision becoming sharper, excitement washing through him.

The guards didn't pay much attention to what was happening; they felt completely at safe. _Tough guns aren't enough to do the job,_ Wolf grinned, _they need a man to use them._ He hit one standing further from the castle with the brain of his gun. His victim collapsed soundlessly to the ground. _Always watch your back._

He waved another silent attacker to approach the next man, a bit closer to the back entrance. Around him, Wolf could see the others working, every attacked guard falling onto the ground. The leaves on the old oaks shivered in the cold, not like the soldiers who wore bullet-proof vests and full outfit with grenades, smoke-bombs, knives and guns with plenty of reserve cartridges. No wonder Wolf felt himself ridiculous in the middle of a party.

_Silence is the __best weapon and-_ he wasn't able to finish this thought, as in that moment, the back door was kicked out, the wooden frame moaning from the violent pressure, while a woman was shrieking in terror. _Yeah, speaking about surprise…_

The woman's long blonde hair flew behind her, the curls freed from the loose bin as she hurried down the few stairs. She wore a black dress and high heels she was staggering on as she was running towards one of the black cars. All the while shrieking. Her voice was pitchy and Wolf's ears were beginning to hurt, his teeth ground in his mouth. One of the guests, apparently. He looked for the need of aria, when the door was kicked out again and a graceful shape jumped into the air.

He watched astounded as the figure fell back leaving the stairs long behind, moving with the skills of a cat. The shadow grabbed her shoulder and tossed her onto the ground, but then the guards decided they could as well do something and surrounded the attacker who seemed to be a waiter. His white shirt shone in the pale moonlight, his coat lost far behind.

Wolf didn't know what to do. Who was on the evil and who on the good side? Or, considering it was an SO arranged assignment, who was on their side and who the enemy? There wasn't much time to weigh his options. He waved two men to take the woman while the others went for the man. The fighters hadn't even noticed the soldiers until now. She kept screeching while the waiter was deep in his fight. Although he was highly outnumbered, the guards fell onto the ground one by one.

The waiter was struggling to get after the woman, but every time he started after her, he was held back, violent fists punching him. She got to her car already when the two soldiers reached her. The waiter had only three attackers left… he bent down. He aimed a kick somewhere in the mist… two left… One of the SAS men tried to hold back the fighters, but he got a punch and saw it better to keep away.

Wolf watched the waiter in wonder. The man was finally able to catch a moment of distraction of his attacker. Wolf thought he would knock out the man left, but he just continued towards the car and the woman. Wolf frowned. What was so interesting in her? The waiter wiped away the blood from his eyes and glimpsed the soldiers for the first time.

"Get after her!" His yell had a forcing edge and even Wolf turned after the escaping woman. The waiter got another punch at his neck from the last guard, but Wolf didn't care; he was watching her. The blonde woman turned back to the soldiers and with some barely visible movements got free of their clutches. Before the men would have been able to recover, she opened the door of the car.

The waiter whose hoarse voice seemed faintly familiar for Wolf was late running after her; the guest drove away with grinding wheels. The man didn't give up: he went to one of the cars and in barely more than fifteen seconds, the door was pulled open. He looked back for a last time at the soldiers and Wolf recognised him with awe.

The waiter was Cub.

Wolf's mouth fell open, but he didn't have the time for standing there astounded, the radio in his ear buzzed and informed him that another shots were heard from inside the castle's western wing. Not that he wouldn't have heard it. Of course he did. The plan of surprise was blown anyway, so he yelled away for two men to follow the cars while he himself rushed into the castle. The door tumbled down behind him with a loud thud not bearing any more violence.

_Cub was here as a waiter, Cub was here as a waiter,_ his mind kept repeating as he cautiously made his way deeper into the building. _And he fucking forced the lock on a car in fifteen seconds._ His brain wanted to warn him about something, but he ignored the disturbing feeling. He needed to concentrate on what he was doing. And his line of work didn't let people daydream during an assignment.

The main hall was strangely dark after the light of the servant corridor and kitchen he left behind. Two other men in black appeared at his side and he waved them to split. The party was kept on the first floor; the ballroom's lights had been visible from the forest they had been waiting the past hours.

A dark shadow moved in the corner of the main hall but in front of his gun it happened to be only a nervous waiter with his hands in the air. He was remembered Cub again. The strange feeling got only stronger in his mind. He waved down the men and started to climb all the way up to the first floor. The stairs were made of marble, the covering velvet absorbing the sound of their heavy footsteps.

He entered the ballroom. S Unit was already there, giving orders the frightened guests who were lying on the floor. Another shot cut into the loud yelling. Wolf knew he had to follow it. He took another staircase leading upwards, this one much narrower and apparently less used than the first. He fell into a jog following the sounds of a fight. Some furniture was crushing and breaking and human yells became louder as he reached the door of what he supposed to be a study after hurrying through a branch of corridors and stairs towards the western tower.

He was almost there, when the sounds increased. He rushed over to the thick wooden door and turned the knob. Wolf heard a shriek and a painful screech. The door was locked. He emptied the cartridge into the lock, but all he reached was a little hole around the silver metal. The woman shrieked again, the agonizing sound making a shudder run down his spine. He went off and ran against the wood. It gave a loud cracking noise, but didn't yield.

A window or some glass or crystal was breaking, a male voice cursing loudly. Wolf looked around hastily and found two men running towards him quickly. Unfortunately, two guards. He shoved himself against the wall of the corridor. The guards' bullets gave variety to his decorating the thick door, but nothing else happened. The firing guard fell onto the floor as soldiers arrived following the source of the noise as well as everybody seemed to.

The man inside the study was howling. Wolf used all his desperation to get into the room finally, leaving the left guard for his men. His shoulder sprained, but the frame only cracked a little with a loud noise – not loud enough however to make the shrieking and yelled cursing at the other side of the door inaudible. Wolf helplessly leant against the frame, trying to find a hole he could watch the events through. Fortunately for him, unfortunately for the other targets, the guards' guns were designed to be able to kill even an elephant and one of the bullets went through the devil-made wood.

He froze there for a moment as he absorbed the sight. He was late realizing what had bothered him for so long; Cub never left the side of the girl, _never_. If he was in the castle, so was she. And she was on the good side (or better say _their_ side); he had known this for sure. The two had something to do with MI6 and this assignment was arranged by them. He should have started searching for her; of course where she was there was the centre of trouble.

In the study, Ama was fighting against certain Samuel Paige owning the castle. Wolf fell back dazed, feeling as if he was going to throw up. Eagle slipped next to him through the cleared corridor, asking something but Wolf didn't hear the words just waved towards the hole. The man unsuspectingly looked through it, but he soon turned away as well. When he recovered, he leant back to the hole again, not wanting to miss a second of what was happening.

He shook his head in disbelief and desperately tried the door much the same way Wolf had. The molested wood indignantly squeaked once. Eagle shoved himself against it again. And again. The man switched his sides, using his other shoulder to push.

And all of a sudden, it yielded. The two plunged into the room with a lot of noise, but the fighting pair didn't notice them. The woman, Ama as they knew her, was covered all in blood. Hopefully not her own – but Wolf didn't see much of a chance for this. Crimson painted her almost entirely naked body and was drying upon the bit of clothes she was wearing. Behind the desk, Wolf could see the rest of her dress torn off her.

She must have played the role of a striptease dancer judging from her rags, but Wolf didn't take much time to analyze the reasons. Because, in her blood-slippery hands, she was clutching a samurai sword. Just like the man did. Wolf felt as if he had become lunatic some time he hadn't paid attention. What he hell were two bloody samurai swords doing here, in a Victorian styled castle?

The man aimed at her heart with the next stab, but she easily got out of the way. Wolf and Eagle watched astounded as the two fenced throughout the room. Wolf knew they should do something, but the fencers' movements were so quick and unforeseeable that menacing the man with a gun would have been worthless. He thought about tripping him, but the chance was equally shared between the two – he could as well make _her_ be killed. He watched helplessly as they continued the dance in the room. _There must be a way, there must be a way, _he heard his mind, but he couldn't think of one.

SAS was tough and good, but he was not prepared about how to arrange a situation when two were fencing above his head with deadly sharp bloody samurai swords. It was quite new for him. But apparently the situation didn't need Wolf's help of arranging, it suddenly solved itself.

Wolf closed his eyes tiredly after the weak thud. This was definitely not something he had wanted to see during his life.

**To be continued…

* * *

**

I'm not over my feedback blues sot that you would review. This chapter was a surprise present for those who wrote me, I'm still mad at the others. Just to let you know.

Who would like to guess what happened at the end? The first who finds out (so the first to read...) I dunno, can ask something. A scene or a chapter from someone's POV or anything you want. Cookies for all the reviewers.


	13. 12: Chase

Hi, everybody.

Check the note below afterwards. I'm glad to have so peaceful readers accepting that I didn't have much time last week (and won't have this one either). Thanks for waiting, I hope it won't be a disappointment.

_As always, thanks for my reviewers. __All the others: feel ashamed._

**Chapter 12**** - Chase**

Alex watched Leonore free from the soldiers' grab and drive away. The two looked around disoriented and dazed. Alex let out an annoyed sigh. _Backup, my arse! A handful stupid soldier,_ he thought as he ran for it. He must thank Abdul someday for teaching him how to steal a car so quick. Without him, he would have been truly screwed now. _Backup…_

Of course, it was typical. He needed to thank the success a poor Israeli boy who made his living by stealing, cars amongst others. _Soldiers have one advantage, the intimidating appearance, nothing else,_ he pondered as he followed the black vehicle ghost in the night.

Leonore could not escape; they couldn't afford such a loss. He hoped Rose was taking care of Paige and would manage to eliminate him without much matter. His foot was stiff on the gas pedal, but the distance between him and Leonore seemed to stay the same, if not increasing. The bad dirt road shook him inside the car which was designed for city-driving. Like using a racing bicycle to challenge a mountain bike – in the latter's territory, of course. He cursed briefly and tried to find out where they were heading towards.

The minor road leading to Paige's weekend-house soon left behind them, and he turned the car onto the main road without slowing down after a short pray. The woman was however too used to the rules of the continent and Israel; she almost finished her dramatic escapade with a bad turning into the lane of a red camion. The vehicle-beast rushed away by them with loud honking. _Oh yeah, maybe you should go on the left side of the road – if you wanna live at least._

_How crazy, _Alex thought, switching the lanes and keeping overtaking the cars here and there, _just like in a bad action movie. Black cars, escaping sexy blonde criminal and life-danger. Fucking fantastic. There's nothing I would rather do on Friday night._

They swept towards London with insane speed, but he was desperate enough not to let the woman escape. Alex trusted his reflexes, but he hadn't had too much practice with driving to rely on. If they crushed something with this speed, everything was over instantly. A thin brook of sweat running down on his temple. _Use your brain,_ he commanded himself. _Where is she possibly heading to? What is she hoping to happen?_

In his rear-view mirror, he saw the military jeep the soldiers tried to follow them with. They were rather unsuccessful, not keeping up with them. Alex shook his head disdaining. _Christmas-guys,_(i) he thought wryly, using Rose's word she had for soldiers who were able to spend Christmas with their family, whose work was bordered to a place – the camp, the military area, the war terrain, the office –, and not the whole world on every day of their lives. Like spies did. Like _they_ did.

_They can't even stand some speed…_ his gaze wandered at the speedometer and instantly he felt nauseous. Was he crazy? He must have been. No normal, sane person would rush so much on a main road full of cars. No wonder the soldiers kept behind. They sure had families. And no intention to die.

He focused back onto the road. He tried to remember the route they had come to the castle only hours ago. The M4 motorway was just ahead of them, a minute and they would reach it. The motorway would have more space to move round; it was Friday night, no reason to be a big traffic. Separated sides and lay-by – a perfect opportunity to get rid of him, turn onto the other side or take another road back and melt into the crowd. He would never again find her.

He took a deep breath as the yellow board indicated the approach of the motorway. He would stay in the lay-by, he planned, but suddenly he had more problems to deal with than planning. Just as he turned on the U turn leading onto the motorway, a red Ford in front of him wanted to turn as well. Leonore was cars ahead, her advantage increasing quickly as she reached the free way while Alex was still on the one-sided slip-road twisting towards the direction of the motorway. He wasn't able to move out from the trap, he had to go on with the slow, overcautious driver in front of him.

He gritted his teeth. Time seemed to slow down until finally the red Ford managed to reach the turn and get on the motorway and so did Alex. He struggled to reduce back the distance between them. Much for his relief, the massive black car whose type Alex couldn't recognise slowly started to come closer to his as they rushed down the motorway. His own was way quicker on the high-quality tarmac of the motorway than on the bumpy dirt road.

He sighed, exhaling the breath he hadn't known he had been keeping. It was going to be alright from now on, as long as they were still on the motorway.

Relaxing a little from his stiff posture, he caught a glimpse of a yellow board(ii) hanging above the road.

_London,__ 45 miles_

***

She didn't know how long she had been sitting there, cuddling up to her knees, tuning the outside world out. The world had all seemed a blur as she had stumbled out of the study, leaving the beheaded body behind. She had got down from the tower, almost falling down from the stairs. She had seen spots of shapes and she had known somebody had been talking to her, but she hadn't cared.

Escaping the castle, she had collapsed to the ground, her back against the cold wall, her arms embracing her legs, her chin laid at her knees. People had come and talked to her, but she had tuned them all out, not wanting to hear what they had said, not wanting to hear what they had accused her to have done.

If Alex had his own assassin-mode, she had a rage-mode. No one ever considered her dangerous, no one ever thought her to be an opponent worth enough. And she liked it that way. She preferred not to fight, not to do that part. Because then, she always killed.

**

When she returned from the dazed state she had escaped into from reality, the first she realized was the cold. She was cold, she acknowledged numbly. This simple feeling helped her to regain her consciousness. She was leaning against the cold wall, her clothes ripped off, the chilly wind biting into her naked skin.

She looked around slowly, not quite sure how long she had been away inside the safety of her mind. The two units – hers and Alex's, she remembered herself – were watching her uncertainly and worriedly, their gazes kept on her face with Herculean efforts. The shadow of a smile appeared on his lips – they were only man at last while she half-naked in a pole dancer's clothes. It was comfortably natural of a reaction.

The five men – three of them were missing, she realized – were talking in quiet voices, apparently not noticing her return back to life. Wolf was arguing about something rather nervously with the Scottish man – Snake. She stopped tuning them out.

"-can't know what quite happened and she might have been raped or something and then obviously not ready to even just stand the touch of another man so soon and-" Snake was saying, but Wolf interrupted, all the others flinching as his voice rose louder from hushing.

"- and so she needs medical help, she's still bleeding and the blood covering her-"

"-is not all her own, so we can't really know how serious her injuries are-" Snake tried to prove his right.

"-but then she may be dying and we wouldn't know until it's late and-"

"-but maybe they aren't, but she sure as hell has serious damage in her psyche and-" Before the two could kill each other, the nurse they were waiting for arrived at last with Goat, S Unit's leader. They motioned towards the girl cuddled up to the wall some meters farther, glad to have the responsibility of her possible death off their shoulders.

The nurse had large innocent blue eyes, her cheeks rosy from the cold air. She leant closer to the "sick" and greeted her in a voice thick of self-importance and certainty with fake joy. Rose watched numbly as the woman reached out for her, then just a moment before their skin would have connected, whispered, "I wouldn't touch myself if I were you."

She flashed a sweet smile at her; Rose shuddered at the falseness of it and said, "I won't hurt you, honey, there's nothing you should be afraid for now, I'm here! I'll help you! I know what that bad man have done to you, but I'm here to help you! You don't need to be afraid of me…" She continued in a willingly soothing voice as if talking to a five-year-old. At the "bad man" part she almost shrieked in terror, but decided to just frown in her obtuseness.

Her gaze wandered at the group of men watching her soundless fight with the nurse and she decided it was enough. With a snore, she stood up, so suddenly the crouching nurse fell onto her butt and gracefully walked over to the males.

"You are the medic, aren't you?" She fixated her gaze upon Snake. The man swallowed and nodded, desperately trying to keep his eyes on her face. Rose saw the efforts, but didn't comment it, just sat down onto the low stone-wall separating the garden from the path and spread her legs so that the still bleeding wound in her thigh became visible. She looked down at it emotionlessly, sensing the throbbing pain the first time through the thick mist of numbness around her brain.

"Six or seven stitches, not more. You can do that, can't you?" The man nodded wordlessly, pulling the first aid kit he was holding closer. His face was all a redness as he sprayed the disinfectant onto the skin and cleared the wound with trembling hands.

Too bad her panties were still up in the study of the western tower, on the ground where Paige had thrown it, right before pulling out the little pocket knife…

She numbly watched him work then glanced over to the other soldiers who seemed to share Snake's blush. "You know, you guys could have gotten some clothes if I was so _disturbing_." She raised an eyebrow at them. They just blushed even more and Wolf cleared his throat.

"We, er, have tried it, but…" He waved helplessly towards Chamois, "you, er, were not in the… er, state to…"

She closed her eyes tiredly, with a suspicion in her heart seeing the bandage around his hand. "What have I done to him?" she whispered.

"You, er… well… er..." he jabbered the end so she could barely understand it, "sprained his wrist."

"Ah." So she had been totally out of control then… It sounded right; when she had been out in her happy place, the only one who could sooth his nerves enough and calm her down, was… She looked around warily.

"Where is _he_?"

***

He cursed loudly and long in a various choice of languages as he caught the glimpse of the flashing red and blue lights in front of them. Alex had guessed the down-turn from the motorway would be just as hard as the on-turn had been and he had worked until he was right behind Leonore when it came to the direction-change. Now he wished he wouldn't have.

The end of the road was closed by the police. Leonore was not far ahead of him. The city whirled around them, there was no way they could pick another road or just leave the road – the police chose the point to stop them carefully.

They had just turned downwards from the motorway to the one-lane road connecting it to another one heading deep inside the capital, the road hanging in the air over the crowded road towards Heathrow and the airport coming from the north, only thick concrete pillars keeping their road up above. Nowhere to go and the city yet far away. They either crushed against one of the police cars turned across at the end of the turn or stopped. Alex was quite sure about Leonore's decision.

***

Wolf sighed half-contently, the tenseness of adrenaline beginning to wear off. "We need to go back to London for the debriefing, the Colonel requires us to notify him as soon as we finished the assignment."

Goat nodded, his gaze far away in the distance. "As soon as Monkey and the other guy get back from wherever they have gone." Both leaders glanced back at Rose who was still patiently waiting for Snake to finish. The medic still worked a lot slower with his slightly trembling hands, although one of the men had got her trousers and a jacket with a T-shirt. Not too warm for the chilly night but definitely better than the torn rags and tatters she had had.

"They will be back to the time she has taken a shower." The two males nodded contently; their plan was brilliant and satisfying. …If it was not that damn woman, who said however:

"The assignment is not over until Leonore is in our hands, interrogated and safely guarded somewhere deep below the ground for the rest of her life." She almost whispered, still her hoarse voice was clear in the dark night. Wolf wished he could ignore the irritating female, bind her up and just toss the woman into the boot of a jeep then driving away into the sunrise…

Life was not a fairy tale.

"Leonore?" Goat tasted the fancy name(iii). "Is she the shrieking crazy blonde almost breaking her neck while stumbling on high heels?" he added rising a brow.

"Yeah, the same I guess. It sounds like her – although during the time I've been pretty occupied in the opposite part of the castle," she replied sourly. The unit leader swallowed and apparently wanted to slap himself for voicing his thoughts. Nonetheless he continued, wanting to get some answers from the woman even if she was injured both physically and mentally. "Why is she so important?"

"You don't need to know," answered the both physically and mentally injured woman. "And besides, it's classified." The man growled, something he must have picked up from Wolf.

"But _why_ is it classified?" The woman just glanced at him in disbelief and a hint of disdain.

"It is classified to hide the information from those who don't need to know it, just like you."

"Because risking our lives is not enough of a reason," Snake said silently.

She sighed tiredly and closed her eyes for a moment. "You're involved with this assignment already only because of us, you don't need to have further connections to MI6."

"And what about you?" The fourth member of K Unit, Tiger opened his mouth for the first time. "What do you have to do with MI6? You cannot be much more than eighteen, maybe nineteen. Why do _you_ let them ruin your lives?"

She stared deep into his eyes, her heart giving a painful pang at the serious expression of the soldier. He did care about their lives and was concerned what would happen to them.

"_Far too late for grieving about mistakes, innocence is left in another life, erased from our souls long ago, never to regain it again… Sometimes lives go wrong without anybody to be responsible for the damage, and sometimes they do not care what's left behind… But time is passing, not stopping to mourn for anybody and we need to fight and live – while knowing fate's never far away… and our destinies have been written long ago."(iv)_

The soldiers stared at her blankly, their expressions frozen into one of disbelief and she was too late realizing she had said her thoughts out loud. She wondered where this had come from – she hadn't known she had felt the emotion these philosophical thoughts described. They must have been whirling around in her head for a time…

…And she no longer saw the soldiers or the cold September night, but the memory surfacing from her mind from just three weeks ago… She was still dazed as a man handed her the mobile, Alex's voice cutting into the silence around her unceremonially(v).

"I've lost her." (vi)

**To be continued…**

**(i) **Don't freak out, he's worried about his wife and envying them at the same time. No flames for _this_, people!

**(ii) **No idea what colour they have or what sort of information–holder materials are used in the UK. I don't even live in an English speaking country, so don't blame me.

**(iii) **No offence meant here… If somebody knows for sure if such a name actually _exists_, tell me. Microsoft O. Word states it doesn't.

**(iv)**Carried a bit far away. Next chappie's going to be a bit… weird. I know.

**(v) **No need to tell me there's no such word existing. I already know from the freakin' red underline.

**(vi)** What a cliffy! :D For those who may misunderstand it, she's not dead. Yet.

**I have another offer for you**as nobody really worked to find out the last one.** The first reviewer (or you can pm me… whichever) who comes near the truth **gets two cookies(yay!) and **can make a wish, **just like the previous time.** The winner **gets** half a chapter, **if finding out something really good,** maybe a whole. **But anyway, you can either **ask a scene **or something more** major **(like the death of Mrs Jones or something…** be creative**).** I promise to write it, **as far as it doesn't screw up the main plot lines.

_If nobody'__s interested, I'll freak out. _(Again.)

Oh, yeah, the questions (both counts a whole as the next chapter won't have any).

**Question A: Why is****/was Leonore so desperate to get to London? **(wild imagination required to find out my version)

**Question B: What happened after Alex noticed the police, how did Leonore managed to escape at last?**(don't forget she's crazy + desperate)

**Deadline: **next week (18th January) or until Chapter 13's up (the later of the two).

**Task: **Use your imagination, keep my email box full of letters and make me pleased.

PS A big sorry for AR-bookworm who did find out my last question (and so can wish something... I mean... _have to_ wish something :D). I confess I forgot about it as the time I read the review I... fine. I didn't have my dictionary in available reach. Apologies, honestly. And wish your wish. :)


	14. 13: Freedom

I had my reasons.

Sorry.

Other: remember that this is yet to be betaed. It may be even deleted later or replaced. Anyway, enjoy.

_/This chapter is slightly... weird. But tell your opinion 'bout it./_

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**Chapter 13**** – Freedom**

_A monastery somewhere in southwest China  
__A month ago_

She had been born here.

She had lived here.

As well as her sister, her brothers, her masters. As well as about fifty other people she had considered her family.

They had all lived together and – when the time had come, so suddenly, their time had come – they had all gone together.

* * *

_»__Her cheeks are adorable rosy pink: she has run all the way. As she gets to her, the girl looks up from her book – she is reading in English, she's the cleverest and knows everything about the world – and smiles down at her. She always smiles at her and listens to her, no matter what she has been doing. She tells her fairy tales, and-_

"_What's up, Lily?" Rose reaches out to put her into her lap, but she sneaks away from her soft white hand and chuckles._

"_You promised you dance with me under the tree when it's blossoming and it's blossoming and the wind is blowing and the petals are falling and you promised…" Her voice is high as she already catches her hand to pull her sister towards the cherry-tree that's blossoming. Rose lets herself be pulled up and the little girl leads her to the hidden part of the garden, where a cherry tree is growing, its petals falling down in the soft wind._

_Sweet scent is in the air, the flagrance fragile and she feels a pang of beauty in her heart – this is perfect.«

* * *

_

She was shivering with cold. It was late in the afternoon, the sky beginning to turn grey. It was bright though, the colour a vivid, clear blue only autumn days could have. Everything was still as though even the birds had finished chirping.

The woman stepped closer to the natural lake around which the monks had built their monastery once upon a time. She saw shadows playing on the surface, juniper dancing with the cold wind hushing in the air. She didn't want to see it; she didn't want to watch it again, not when she was already vulnerable, but she couldn't stop the flood of memories invading her mind.

* * *

_»__The brook is turquoise; one can see the little rocks on the bend through the clear water. Lily takes off her clothes not waiting for her sister to arrange them in an organized pile; she jumps into the water. Brilliant drops fly in the air, the sunlight shining through them with a greenish light as it goes round the thick tent of emerald leaves above the natural pool._

_She chuckles as she surfaces, her soft childish laughter in perfect synchrony with the chirping birds around in the forest. "Come in, Rose, come in at last!" she ducks again and the other girl with rosy red hair obeys with an adoring smile on her full lips. She drops her clothes and cautiously dives into the water._

_She swims down until the river-bend, her long hair whirling around her as she lies down onto the ground. No sound can be heard underwater, the silence comforting her as her favourite element caresses her young body. The touch is soft and she imagines only a lover can be that gentle besides the waves. She opens her eyes. Soft waves are running upon the surface, the world above her emerald with the greenness of the living forest._

_Light beams dive after her, playfully trembling as the branches above dance with the wind, painting shadows chasing the sunshine on the surface. The brook sings gently, cuddling her with tenderness. The water comes down from the mountains, bringing the fresh breeze of the melting ice to the brook, but she ignores the coldness disturbing her play. She could lie like this forever, but her lungs need air by now.«

* * *

_

She was shivering with her whole body, coldness biting into her vulnerable skin, painting it red. There was no wind moving the air that was heavy with the promise of coming rain. The sunshine's desperate attempts to steal some warmth under her skin failed. The woman just stood there, the killing cold spreading from her heart, slowly covering the peaceful, magical place of the monks with a thick quilt woven of guilt, desperation, pain and hate, the most poisonous of all.

She didn't know why she had come here in the first place. To grieve? To torture herself even more? When she had left, she had sworn to take revenge for the slaughter. She had followed the trail, each of her actions pointing towards the task she had set ahead of herself. And all she had achieved was her husband almost dying in her arms amongst agonizing pains, as he had tried to save her. _Her_. As if she would have been worth for that.

* * *

_»The night __when they come is silent; their footsteps get lost on the wet soil. It has rained this afternoon. They are killers hired for this job; they don't care who their victims are – they will soon be dead anyway. It doesn't really count. They split up, each of them taking place at one of the possible exits._

_The monastery is far away from any habited place; nobody will hear the screams and when the bodies will be found, the killers will have gotten off of this cursed valley polluted with bodies all their way. _

_The building itself is simple, without much decorating, the rich living flora the only luxury the monks have permitted themselves. There is a yard in the centre, with a turquoise watery pond in which fish are swimming; they will be the last to die, if not from the poisonous blood flowing into the water, then the long time spent without human being to feed them._

_The leader nods, the killers break the doors and windows. The silence is cut half abruptly, the first death cries can already be heard as the rage spreads.«

* * *

_

Her eyes were blind to the present; the blood of her family still dried on her hands. She could feel it, strong like those very first days she had had to realize they had gone. All gone and she had been all on her own. She fought the terrible urge, knowing that giving in wouldn't help anything – she had learnt that by experience.

The first time, she had rubbed her skin, rubbed and rubbed until once she had looked down at her hand, she had been able to see the yellowish bone of her finger amongst the flesh ruby-red from the blood dripping from the tips of her damaged fingers.

Blood had been covering her hands, but _that_ had been her _own_. She closed her eyes, the blood of those beloved irritating, burning on her hands, making its way through her skin, an invisible, torturing reminder of what she had survived.

* * *

_»__Lily's tiny fingers are painfully grabbing her forearm as she's cuddling her in her lap. She's so young! She has an entire life ahead of her; she cannot die like this. The noises from under them come closer, and the girl flinches in her lap. She's silently humming a sing into her ears, hoping it would calm her down, just a little bit: the men below can't hear them otherwise they will be killed, just like the screaming others everywhere in the monastery._

_The voices draw away and she relaxes a bit, the first time for this evil half an hour. Then the smell hits her nose. Her brain doesn't want to react, to realize what this means, but she forces herself to think. There must be a way out of this. The girl, her adopted sister hicks one, hiding in the crook of her neck and she feels her blood freeze in her veins._

_Smoke. They have lit the building in an attempt to hide the evidence. The thick stone walls won't burn down enough, but they are not going to realize this; and the grey smoke already appearing between the roof-beams means their deaths. They are going to die, anyway. If not from the men's hands, then because of the smoke._

_They need to get out of here instantly.«

* * *

_

The walls were still staying there, where the fire had left them. They had been standing there for centuries, around the sacred lake, filled with praying monks searching for the point of their lives. They had had traditions. They had come here as a child and lived there until they had passed the knowledge they had learnt to the next generation and had gone in peace. But all this had been cut off quickly that night by violent hands slaughtering them, them, who had never ever touched weapon in their lives.

* * *

_»She recognises him instantly, without hesitation although she has seen him only once in her short life. But that occasion was vivid enough to be her reason for doing all this._

_She opens the door after a soft knock not wanting the man to shoot her. She has heard his name, but made her mind forget it. He isn't a man, he is a monster. A monster she's going to kill. She smiles at him sweetly._

"_Hi." Her voice is thick with shyness and he chuckles a way he has meant to be irresistible, though, the only thing he achieves with it is icy sweat droplets running down her spine feverishly under the tiny, tight piece of cloth said to be a dress. She takes a step closer. He might be grinning but he will be oh-so-dead in the run of an hour. And, this man just doesn't have the pleasantry of a comfortable death._

_He is going to be dying for long, amongst agonizing pains, the most torturous way possible. He is going to – because she wants so.«

* * *

_

The thought she was a killer, - and even contract killer – was not pleasant, neither something she was able to accept easily. But she had learnt how to handle it as time passed and she was now in harmony with herself. She must have been.

She had killed a man in cold blood – her first -, the same who had raped her, ending her childhood violently and painfully forever. But this was not the reason for his death, no. That reason was the sight she had suffered so many times in her sleep she wasn't able to even count it; Lily, the sweet Lily tortured ruthfully in front of her very eyes, just so that they could watch as the older girl broke.

Because then, on that moonless, dark night, she had broken. She had thought, for eternity, but now she knew it was over.

Grieve and pain filled her, and she was tortured by the memories, yes. But that precious something, that had broken that day, had become a whole again. She had to thank to _him_, to the boy who understood her, no matter what. The boy who was her husband, lying in a hospital somewhere hidden in the Middle East, deep in coma since he had been shot.

Alex had taken the bullet for her, and this act meant more than anything else on earth could have. The walls in her soul and heart broke down and she could feel the venomous revenge she had enclosed in herself for so long lost its edge and no longer poisoned her. She was on her way to be free from shadows and find her place in life again, for the first time for more than two years.

She was free.

* * *

_»His eyes are cold. Not the way the ones she have been looking at for almost three months; these are cold from self-defence. There's warmth deep in them. Maybe it seems so only because of the colour and the intensity of his gaze. Every female would fall for such a pair of eyes. Chocolate. Sweet and comforting. With a sense of security not matching the air of danger surrounding him._

_She decides she likes his eyes._

_A smile appears on the lips and her heart even gives a pang. How can one be that handsome while speaking about executing an organization and murdering people? The smile is warm as well. Shy and reassuring. With the strand of fair hair always falling into his face, he slightly looks like an angel. A distorted, fallen angel. The hair could be longer. It would suit the features much more. He must have been told to have his hair cut short for action._

_He speaks, the words are registered in her head, but she doesn't really care. Words no more hold their meaning for her. Acts do. _

_He's young. __The voice still must have some breaking to reach the real pitch, it swings here and there on the scale every now and then. He may have never seen razor from close. The skin is tanned from the sun, still holding the colour of summer despite the months passed since then. It might have seen the sun on another part of the world. It is littered by scars and cuts, decorated with fading bruises as well. This is not a pleasant job. She doesn't like the idea of dragging him in this._

_The body is well-built, muscular, but not overly so. Much more than a boy at his age should have so. The motions are graceful, light. They are perfect for her liking. The boy is__ stubborn. He looks right into her eyes and she knows her gaze is way too sharp to stand it for too long. But he has endurance and his face shows nothing at the cold edge that must be ruling her irises. He seems deliberated, though it is only a willing show._

_He wants to work with her._

_And after half an hour, this is fine with her.«

* * *

_

The sky changed from blue to orange, from orange to grey, from grey to black and the woman was still standing there, motionlessly. Her mind was wandering in the past, sour and pleasant memories in her vision, and her shivering stopped. The cold had disappeared and her stiffness had melted. Some warmth was filling her body, hope and love towards a man.

The shadow of a smile appeared on her lips. It was time to let the souls of those beloved go.

**To be continued...

* * *

**

Please. Do not ask why the italic parts are written in present tense while they are pictures of the past. It's my freedom as a writer to do it so. Besides, my conception is that she lives/lived more in the past than in the present. Flame me if not acceptable for you.

My challenges aren't really popular. *frowns* **Kali Libitina** gets cookies & her wish that gave me plot bunnies for QB. And a big sorry for me not answering . :(((


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